Troy: Gift of the Raven
by Lady-of-the-White-Tree
Summary: Imagine if sheepish, Apollo loving Briseis was replaced with defiant, goddess like Adonia. What if, she was also Hektor's favorite little sister? What if she could stop Achilles, Patroclus and Hektor all from dying? OC/Achilles
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

Here is the revised and edited version of Gift of the Raven. I've recently gone back through and edited many things out as well as made scenes clearer and dialogue easier to understand. I understand that there still may be some imperfections in my writing, so please let me know and I will make all attempts to fix it.

Before you read know that the spelling in the story are different than you may see elsewhere. I prefer to use the character spellings of David Gemmell, Author of the Drenai Saga, The Stones of Power Cycle, The Rigante, and the Troy Trilogy. He's a fabulous writer, and his style of splitting a chapter between character I have found very useful and effective. I recomend his books highly to anyone interested.

This story is based upon the events in the movie Troy (2004) and the original script by David Beniof. I own none of the characters except Adonia, and certain elements of the storline belong to me.

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**Prologue**

The wind softly rustled the frail curtains in the balcony's doorway as the young Trojan princess leaned over the broad stone that made up her balcony railing. She was looking down on the busy city that had forever been her home. She leaned heavily on the stone railing, looking down the ten story drop, Adonia was in no way concerned for her safety, as young children normally never were. At seven years old, Adonia was the youngest of King Priam's legitimate children, but she was already called the prettiest. Her raven black hair was nearly waist length, and currently braided back with silver and golden ribbons. Her long, feathery bangs fringed over her brilliant blue eyes in a way her mother found displeasing.

"Hektor! Come look! I think I see Papa!" Little Adonia called over her shoulder as she leaned even more heavily on the railing, trying to get a better look at the man riding in the fancy chariot along Troy's main paved road. She was partly holding herself up, partly balancing on the railing, completely oblivious to the dangers of her actions. Suddenly, her left hand slipped out from underneath her and she pitched forward dangerously, she cried out in pain, in shock and in fear. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if the action would make the scene disappear entirely and put her safely back on solid ground. Even though she was a child, Adonia knew that she was probably going to fall to her death, but before she could fall too far she felt a pair of strong arms holding her close. When she dared open her eyes Adonia found herself in Hektor's strong embrace, far away from the balcony's edge. She looked up into her eldest brother's eyes and saw the faint fear that lingered in their blue depths.

"Please be more careful Adonia," he said softly as he held his sister, "it would break my heart to lose you in such a way." It scared her for a moment. At thirteen Hektor was the oldest of Priam's children, and he was already strong from riding horses and training with swords and spears and arrows. Adonis enjoyed spending morning sitting with her mother, watching the young men train and learn the craft that would make them heroes and defend her father's kingdom. Adonia was no fool though, she knew that he didn't like fighting, but he was good at it, and as the oldest son he would be general and even King one day. It was the fear lingering in his eyes that had put fear in Adonia's young heart. Normally Hektor was calm, a source of peace and happiness always between his squabbling younger siblings.

"I will try and be more careful big brother," Adonia said shakily as she trembled in her brother's arms, but like any child her mind quickly wandered and when she indicated she wanted to get off the floor, Hektor did not stop her. "Hektor who is your favorite sister?" Adonia said shyly as she looked down at her bare feet, another thing her mother found displeasing.

"Why do you ask?" He asked. His normally bright and cheerful eyes were alight with humor at his little sister's sudden question.

"Kreusa was teasing me yesterday. She said she was your favorite, and that no one really likes me," Adonia said, looking out at the sea from the safety of her doorway. The 'Great Green' as it was called glittered in the sunshine, ships drifted to and from Troy's shores. From where she stood she could see people, as tiny as ants, scrambling around the beach. She knew that it was always busy on the beach. Her mother was always saying that as long as the beach is busy and hectic Troy will be beautiful and strong. Adonia crouched next to Hektor, who was still on the floor, and looked at him apologetically.

"She's just being mean," Hektor said softly, his good natured humor sparkled in his eyes and it warmed her heart. He leaned in close to her and whispered, "to tell you the truth of all our sisters, you little Adonia, are my favorite." He stood and scooped his little sister up in his arms, holding her tightly.

"Really?" Adonia squealed, her bright blue eyes brimming with happiness at her big bother's words. She, like Paris and Laodike, adored Hektor. Adonia, however, loved him simply because he was Hektor, her older brother, and her protector. She did not follow him like a lost puppy, but she would sit and watch him quietly. By now she knew most of his movements, and the difference in his words and what the slight changes in his face meant.

"Yes Adonia, really. I have a gift for you to prove it," He said as he first placed her on the ground and then reached behind his neck and untied the straps of the simple shell necklace he'd always worn. With wonder, Adonia stood as he tied it around her neck. It was amusingly long on the little princess, but Adonia was amazed that her brother would give such a gift. With careful fingers she caressed the simple spiral shell that adorned the thin leather strip. "It was a gift from a friend, and now it is a gift to you, my favorite sister."

"Thank you Hektor!" Adonia said on the brink of giddiness as she wrapped her arms around her big brother as best she could.

"Now I must go little Adonia, please be careful of balcony ledges," he said kindly as he placed his hand on her head, slightly ruffling her shadowy bangs, "and if I were you I would fix your hair and put on sandals before mother sees. " Adonia nodded her head quickly and scampered off into her room as Hektor left, looking over his shoulder once and smiling as he saw her pinning up her bangs obediently. She was so innocent; he prayed to the gods that she'd always be this safe, this innocent, for he was learning all too quickly how terrible the world could really be.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It had been twelve years since that day on the balcony, and nearly ten since Adonia had last seen her beloved brother Hektor. Since he was fifteen he'd been away from Troy, and Adonia had felt each day of the last eight years pass like an eternity without his kind smile and gentle words to life her mood. She found her other siblings tiresome. Her eldest sister, Kreusa, was vain and stupid. Always getting herself into trouble and never getting punished for it. She was excessively beautiful to the point of being ugly with her obscenely bright blond hair and big doe brown eyes. She was father's favorite, which even blind men could see. She was constantly attempting to manipulate and abuse Adonia's loyalty to her family. There were times when Adonia wanted to take one Kreusa's ornate hair pins and stab her in the face with it.

Her second sister, Laodike, was quite and reserved. She was very plain, which would not have been so bad if she was not so meek from all of Kreusa's teasing. Her long brown hair was flat and always bound up, and her eyes were lifeless and any spark that arose in them was quickly extinguished by Kreusa's cruel words. Cassandra, Adonia's third sister, was an incredibly different story. Ever since she'd recovered from her fever as a baby she'd become eccentric and incredibly odd, but that was probably why Adonia had come to love her so. They would spend hours in the bay, swimming and playing with the dolphins, and Adonia would talk and debated with her strange, moon-touched sister.

Paris, as was custom, had left five years ago to join with Hektor. It was only customary for a prince of Troy to know the ways of war, and yet it had not grieved her to see him go. They were friendly enough, but she felt no attachment to him. He was a charmer with a velvet tongue, and Adonia saw through him like thin glass. He preferred to spend his time chasing girls than spending time with his youngest sister. Now, however, Adonia missed even his company. At least with Paris she'd been able to have a decent conversation or two.

The only person whose company she'd taken joy in was her brother's wife, but even then she'd been sent away to the summer palace; to stay the lonesome summer away from the temptations of the Golden City and raise her son in peace. Raise her son, Hektor's son, the nephew that Adonia had never seen, the nephew she was not trusted near, and it was heartbreaking. Ignored and unnoticed, Adonia was becoming a ghost, and fading from life.

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The light of day had already faded into the darkness of night, and yet Adonia still sat up upon her balcony and looked out over the sea. She'd grown accustomed to doing this every night for the past eight years, waiting for her brother to return home. Listless, Adonia no longer found joy in her city. She could find no warmth in the sun, no comfort on the soft sea breeze, there was nothing but her emptiness. Since the day Hektor had left, and since the day she'd been forgotten, all the joys in her life had disappeared.

Sighing, Adonia rose and moved fluidly into her room. She settled quietly on the stool before her vanity, a gift from her now frail mother. Gazing at her reflection with the cold, empty eyes that had driven off every suitor, Adonia deftly untied her braid of hair with quick, nimble fingers, allowing the black silken locks to fall unhindered to her waist. It was slightly wavy from being tied back all day, and the shape of it made her seem even more like a spirit than a mortal being. Unfeeling, Adonia rose and untied the straps of her gown letting it fall to the floor before she strode over to her bed and easily slipped under the covers and into sleep.

As the hours of the moon waned, Adonia dreamed. They were no longer the sweet, sugar filled dreams of a child or a princess without worry. They were not even the romance filled dreams of a teenager, they were nightmares. Nightmares of death and destruction, of all she loved disappearing in a heartbeat, and night after night she witnessed the deaths of men she loved, or knew she loved. This night was no different. In the night's darkness, behind her closed eyelids she saw and smelled the burnings of fire, and felt the touches of hot ash on the wind. She saw two men, one in the silver and blue of Troy, one in a black and gold she did not recognize. The two were supreme fighters, and she knew she loved them both with all her heart. As she watched the beauty of their battle they were suddenly engulfed in flames.

Filled with terror and panic, Adonia woke in a cold sweat. The sun had risen and was streaming through the open doorway of her balcony. The sea breeze was forcing the curtains to flutter as Adonia calmed herself and rose from her bed. Suddenly she realized that it was not only the breeze that came in through the window, but there was cheering as well; the cheering of the gathered people of Troy. The sound was like a wave, drawing close and the receding, and it began to fill her with hope. Quickly from a trunk she pulled a black gown and hastily donned the simple item. Its thin straps showed the bare skin of her shoulder and arms, and it draped down slightly below her collarbone. Making sure the ties were secure, Adonia carefully pulled a comb through her long, thick mass of hair but abandoned the task of tying it up and moved to stand out on the balcony.

With sheer joy Adonia looked down upon the city that had held nothing for her the night before, and in awe she watched as her brothers were paraded through the city. They were returning like conquering heroes from their diplomatic mission to Sparta, but just the fact that they had returned sent a wildfire of joy through the nineteen year old. She was close to tears as she rushed out of her room and hurried down the stairs into the great entrance hall of Troy's royal palace. She joined the rest of the royal family and the council as they waited to greet the returning princes. Steadying her breathing, Adonia slipped back onto the stairs, out of sight from her parents and every one else. She would wait; she had to wait her turn. She was the ghost of Troy, the youngest of Priam's daughters who was lost to her loneliness and forgotten by her kingdom.

Adonia watched her father's greeting to Hektor, and noted the tension in her eldest brother's face and eyes. She then suppressed a gasp of shock as she saw the Paris had been so stupid as to being _Helen_ to Troy. Of all the women who he could have claimed he had brought _Helen_! The Queen of Sparta! The woman who's brother-in-law controlled half of Greece! Even Adonia knew that certain war and possible defeat was now crashing down upon Troy like a great wave. Pushing aside the anger, she stepped from her hiding place as Hektor greeted Andromache, his beloved wife. She saw his tiredness melt away and the tension disappear as he laid eyes on his son. She did not hear what he said, but she felt a stab of envy for Andromache. At least she was loved. Deciding to conceal the decay she'd gone through over the past eight years, Adonia took a deep breath, gathered the hem of her skirts and rushed down the steps.

"Paris!" She called joyously, as she was indeed happy to see him despite his careless and thoughtless choice. It was not false joy, but it would hide the face of her sorrow and her envy. She rushed down and embraced him; he kissed other her cheeks before addressing her.

"Sister, your beauty grows with each new moon!" He said, holding her at arms length so he could see her better. It was indeed true she had grown more beautiful. Her face was more refined and her long black hair was wavy and thick, accenting the curves of her slim, yet athletic body. She smiled slightly at his comment, but it was as Hektor approached that her smile broadened.

"Adonia," he said. She could hear the pride in his voice and see the love in his eyes as he hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Still running through the palace with your hair in your eyes and with bare feet?" He asked, poking fun at all the things she'd done as a child, "and still wearing my old necklace too?"

"It was all so I could see you sooner, brother," Adonia said, brushing off his last comment. Her reunion with him was short lived as their father interrupted and pulled the princes away. She was left standing there, deserted. Withdrawing back into her shell Adonia slipped back up the stairs, and saw Hektor glance over his shoulder, worry in his eyes as he watched her disappear.

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Adonia sat out on her balcony, her skirts spread around her, her bare feet rusting against the warm stone. She was leaning against the wall of the palace with her eyes closed when she heard voices below. She immediately recognized her father's aging tones as well as Hektor's voice, though it was weary. She smiled as she remembered the wonders of having a room right above the great council hall.

She listened intently as Hektor and Priam discussed Paris bringing Helen to Tory, and it was a good argument. It seemed as the argument continued Priam became more and more weary, desperate to try and find a peaceful way out of the situation, but Hektor continued to remind his father of the Spartan King's belligerent nature. As the argument continued their voices rose, and it was beginning frightened her. It had been forever since she had heard panic in Hektor's strong, steady voice, and it terrified her to no end. Despite her desperate efforts to keep her own panic from rising, tears began to trail from her eyes.

"Paris what have you done," she said to the air as her father and her brother continued to argue. Her words blocked her hearing until she quieted down just enough to hear the end of their conversation:

"But I will fight a thousand wars before letting him die." Priam said angrily.

"Forgive me father," Hektor said in a more subdued tone, "but you won't be the one fighting."

"Where are you going?" Priam shouted, his temper still flaring.

"To see me sister," Hektor said with finality.

Adonia could listen no longer, as her crying started again as the images of her nightmares – which she could never remember in the daytime – suddenly flooded her vision. The Trojan warrior in blue and silver who fought the man in gold and black! With horror she suddenly realized who that Trojan warrior was; it was Hektor, her brother who would have to fight Paris' war. Alarmed Adonia realized that her beloved brother would not last through the impending war. He would not survive, and her heart began to break as she sat there upon the balcony the morbid revelation slowly revolving in her mind.

A few moments later she did not hear the knock on her door, nor did she hear her brother call her name softly, she did not recognize him walking across her apartment, all she knew was that he was there on the balcony with her, his strong arms wrapped around her. She felt so safe in him embrace, like she knew the world would be right, but the horrors of her nightmares only reminded her of what war could do.

"Adonia, please, what is the matter?" Hektor said. His voice seemed to be filled with a fear similar to that of twelve years ago when he'd pulled her from the balcony railing.

"Please don't fight Paris' war! Please! In my dreams I see you and in my heart I know all I see will come to pass! Please do not fight!" Adonia knew he could hear the panic in her pleading voice, knew that she faked none of the terror that was in her eyes. On the inside she was desperately trying to get herself under control. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a child!

"What are you talking about?" He said softly as he held her head below his chin and rocked her and comforted her until at last she calmed down. Taking deep, shaking breaths she told Hektor all she could remember of her nightmares and what she had gone through the last ten years. All the while he listened grim faced and worried eyed. Finally, when she had finished her stories, he spoke. "I will think on what you've said, sister. I will be careful," he kissed her forehead and hugged her again.

"You are my favorite brother, and I have been tortured for years while I waited for you to come home. I don't want to lose you for good," Adonia said quietly as she stood in her brother's embrace.

"And you won't," He said confidently as he lifted her chin so she was looking him in the eye. "So long as you have my necklace, I will always be with you. Now, try and get some sleep."

For the first time in a long time Adonia slept through the night without a dream and woke in the morning feeling rested. For the first time in a long time she donned a colored garment. The pale gold fabric was cool against her skin as she painstakingly combed the knots from her hair before pinning it up with gold and silver seahorse ornaments. She looked at the stringer in the mirror and smiled. She held out her hand to the figure who stared back at her and smiled. Today was going to be a good day. Today would be filled with warmth and light. There would be no more emptiness and no more darkness. Today was a new day.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Over the next several weeks Troy prepared for war. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city changed, the entire place became a center for the preparations of the coming clash of nations, and Adonia wanted nothing to do with it. She took to wandering the beach, collecting shells and rocks that interested her, anything to keep herself away from the city while it was like this. The natural chaos of the city seemed to have doubled, and Adonia found solitude in the familiar roar of the waves and soft sand under her feet.

She was walking along the beach one morning. The sun had only just fully risen and Adonia took great pleasure in the sun's warmth. It had been over a month since Hektor and Paris had returned and, and on this particular day Adonia had found an exceptionally beautiful shell, and taking up the shiniest rock she had found, she carefully moved up the sandy hillside and past the readied battlements and skipped nimbly up the steps to Apollo's temple. She intended to make an offering of the very shiny rock in thanks for giving such a beautiful shell, but as she walked toward the alter she heard the clang of the city's warning bell.

Fearful, she spun to look behind her and was frozen in shock and horror. Greek ships filled to horizon from end to end. It was a ghastly fleet, and one with only a single purpose. They numbered blacked the horizon and Adonia saw with terror that one vessel appeared to be nearer to the coast than the others; the ship bore a single black sail. She'd heard stories from the soldiers, stories of what the black sail meant. It was the sign of the greatest Greek warrior, and although she did not know his name, Adonia knew he was to be feared, just as Hektor was to be feared on the battlefield. She saw archers rush into place as the ship neared the coast and she did not hesitate and watch as it beached itself. She ran inside the temple and collided with a frantic priest, whose terrified eyes bored into hers.

"My lady!" The man said, "You must not let them find you!" So he led Adonia to the most secret place in the entire temple and instructed her to escape when the time came. Fearful of what was happening as she heard the chanting priests. It was all she heard for some time until the muffled sounds of men dying filled the air. Adonia preyed frantically to Apollo that Hektor would come to her. Between the lulls in chants she could hear the clash of metal outside, and realized with horror that the fighting was coming closer to the temple.

Suddenly, she could hear the roaring of soldiers as they rushed into the temple. For a single moment the priests before the sound of metal meeting bone replaced their voices. Adonia covered her mouth, praying that she wouldn't scream, hoping she could get out of this alive and return home. The killers plundered the temple, throwing over chests and ripping open doors. They snatched up anything of value, and with great luck Adonia successfully avoided detection. It was not long before the sound of hoof beats in the sand rose like the roaring of the sea. Hektor was coming! And then, silence fell on the temple, and Adonia was sick as she got the feeling that she knew what was happening. Hektor would bring him men through the narrow entrance of the temple, and the murderous Greeks were waiting silently to ambush them! _Please Apollo! Spare my brother!_

Then the noise erupted. She could hear men shouting and other crying out in pain and fear. The death cries of others filled the air and she whimpered noiselessly, praying that Hektor would not fall with his men. The noise began to dwindle, as more men died and the need for yelling decreased, and suddenly there was a voice near her, one of a man she could not see.

"You are very brave or very stupid to come after me alone," the mystery man had a voice like velvet darkness. She tried to picture the man in her mind but brushed off the thoughts; even if he was handsome it did not justify the fact that he was a killer. He was also now an enemy of the gods. He and his men had desecrated the temple of Apollo. "You must be Hektor. Do you know who I am?" She heard light footsteps move near her hiding place, and she shrunk closer against the wall.

"These priests weren't armed," her brother's voice said, and she could hear the veiled anger in his tone.

"Yes," the stranger said, "there is no honor in cutting old men's throats." His tone was sarcastic and mocking; as if he didn't care that he or his men had killed priests! Adonia was appalled, but remained as silent and as unnoticeable as she could.

"Only children and fools fight for honor," her brother spat, his anger rising. _Be careful brother, please!_ "I fight for my country. Fight me!" The man, unknown to Adonia, must have evaded Hektor, moving out of single combat range.

"Why kill you now prince of Troy," the murderer said, amusement clearly thick in his tone, "with no one here to see you fall?" Both the stranger and Hektor must have moved out of the room, because she could only hear the voice muffled now, the words unclear. She wished she could have let her brother know she was there, he could have saved her. _Foolish girl, of course he didn't know you were here! You're supposed to be in Troy!_

With her heart sickening, she heard Hektor's horse gallop off towards Troy, and she began to cry very softly, and a moment later she was yanked from her hiding place by a man she did not know. His short, wavy black hair was held back by a headband, his piercing eyes stared straight into hers. His rough, battle hardened hands hurt as he closed it more tightly around her lower arm. He was dressed in dark leather armor; his voice was just as rough as his appearance.

"Take her to camp, and don't touch her!" He said, tossing her at one of the nearest men who tried to lift her off her feet, but she fought and struggled against his grip, having finally regained her senses. When it appeared she would break free of him and be able to run she was slapped across the face so hard sent her spiraling down into darkness.

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She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious, but when she woke up the sun was still out. She assumed it had to only been an hour or so, and then the headache hit her. She groaned quietly and then fearfully remembered why it was that she had been rendered unconscious. Her blue eyes swept around her, taking in her surroundings. She was in a tent. It was very large and very well furnished for a temporary structure. When she tried to move her arms she realized her wrists were bound behind her to a support beams.

Suddenly, the leather straps that hung in the doorway were roughly pushed aside by the same man who had pulled her out of her hiding place, and she glared at him coldly as he stepped aside to admit one of the most handsome men Adonia had ever seen. He was almost as tall as Hektor, with good strong shoulders, and thick, well muscled arms. His face was handsome, like Paris', only his jaw was harder and his brow more serious. His hair was gold like the sun, and was about shoulder length and slightly wavy, she noted he had a braid on the right side that trailed just in front of his ear. He was maybe the same age as Hektor, four years above her nineteen. She quickly adverted her eyes. He may have been handsome, but he was a murderer.

"The men found her hiding in the temple," the rough man said, "they thought you'd find her amusing." His voice was mocking and Adonia stared at the wall as his meaning sank in. _Murderous, treacherous dogs!_ She sat in silence as the handsome blond drank wine and poured water on his head before carefully removing his armor.

"What's your name?" He asked. His tone surprised Adonia, for she had not expected her kidnapper to speak so softly to her, but her icy mask returned and she refused to answer. She glanced at him for a moment as he pulled off his greaves, and then stared back at the wall in front of her. Trying to think of a way to escape, she had to get away from here, get away from this man. The other thing that had surprised her about his voice: it was the one from the temple. He was the man who had challenged Hektor, the man who had stood up against her brother.

"Did you not hear me?" He said his tone slightly rougher and a little more demanding.

"You killed Apollo's priests," was all she could find to say, throwing the only thing she knew to be true at him. Her mind was racing and her head was pounding, which was not a good combination. There had to be a way out, she had to find it!

"I've killed men in five countries, but never a priest," the blond killer said definitely as he began to remove his leather skirt. Adonia quickly turned away her eyes.

"Then your men did!" She shouted at him, still staring at the far wall. The anger was welling up in her blood, she possessed the same temper that Hektor had, and it was going to get her nowhere in life. "The sun god will have his vengeance." Her defiance surprised her, and then she realized it was her survival instincts kicking in. If Hektor wasn't going to save her then she would have to save herself.

"What's he waiting for?" The Greek warrior asked harshly, a touch of anger in his voice. Adonia couldn't tell what his tone was; it seemed between arrogance and a blunt disbelief in Apollo's power. _Stupid killer! Think the world bend under the will of your blood stained blade?_

"The right time to strike," she snapped back. She didn't believe the words herself, and she couldn't count on Apollo to get her out of this mess either. She'd just have to do it herself, and she'd always known that. She had known it from the moment she had heard the alarm ringing in the city. She was alone and there was no one here to save her. It was something Hektor had said that day ten years ago when he'd first left Troy: "Never count on anyone but yourself to save you."

"His priests are dead and his acolyte's a captive, I think your god is afraid of me," the man said, and Adonia turned to look at his face, her violent blue eyes a blaze with anger at this man's foolish tongue, at his arrogant and self assured tone.

"I am no acolyte of Apollo!" She snapped angered that he would assume that, because she'd been found in a temple, she was priestess! Her black robes had nothing to do with any type of worship other than that of death, and from the events in the temple she knew many men had died. Then she was hit by his words again, and she wanted to yell at him and all she said was: "Afraid? Apollo is master of the sun, he fears nothing."

"Then where is he?" The blond countered, turning to face her gaze, to look straight into her defiant and challenging eyes, and for a moment she saw the expression in his own eyes flicker, but the hardness returned. He would not be an easy man to trick into foolishness.

"You're nothing but a killer!" She finally shouted, her anger boiling over. "You wouldn't know anything about the gods." In a childish way he threw water at her, his way of scoffing at what she'd said most likely. Then she realized: all men who go to war are killers; it is simply the way of battle. But, even this new idea could not tarnish her golden image of Hektor. He was a hero. He was the hero of her people, their unstoppable leader. Yet, Adonia knew he would not survive this war.

"I know more about the gods than your priests," he said, and she could sense in his voice that he was growing tired of arguing with her. "I've seen them," he said as he tied a cloth skirt around his hips. She still didn't look at him, because she knew if she took in the appearance of him for too much longer, her admiration of his appearance might show in her eyes. It was hard to ignore, though. The muscles of his chest were sculpted and well defined, as were the lean muscles in his arms. She was in no way about to flatter a kidnapping, murderous Greek who intended to do god knows what to her.

"You're royalty aren't you?" He asked, and her eyes flickered for a second, but she didn't let him see the flash of panic, but her body tensed as he neared. She wanted him to go as far away as he could and drown in the sea! "Spent years talking down to men," he said as he leaned down, took a lock of her long, unbound black satin hair and inhaled her smell for a brief moment, "you must be royalty."

"What's your name?" He asked again, only this time his voice was a little gentler, a little kinder, as if he was generally interested in her other than his dark intentions. The angle of his head and the way the light hit it made him look even more handsome than when she had first glimpsed him. _Do not let his looks fool you! He is a killer! _"Even women who hide in temples have names," he said as he untied her hands and tossed the binding across the span of the tent. Instinctively she rubbed her wrists, they hurt only slightly from the binding, but it would definitely bruise from earlier, when the dark man had grabbed her.

"Adonia," She said reluctantly as she watched him and how he moved. His manner was not rough or harsh, as she had expected it to be. Instead, he moved much more like Hektor did, careful and weary, yet fluid and almost elegant. Each movement had a distinct purpose. He met her eyes for a moment and she looked away quickly, lest he figure out what she'd been thinking.

"Are you afraid Adonia?" he asked gently, more gently than was expected. She was glad, however, that he did not recognize her name, and why should he? She was Priam's ghost of a daughter, and she'd mainly avoided the public eye, few people, especially a Greek warrior would know who she was.

"Should I be?" she asked, looking back at him and meeting his gaze. Her eyes were once again cold and challenging. If he wanted her to be afraid of him he was failing miserably, because she was not afraid, only cautious of him. She didn't like being near fighting men, but a killer? It was hard to think of being anything but angry or afraid, she was simply weary. He gazed at her intently for a moment, but before he could answer the leather straps in the doorway were pushed aside again and the rough one appeared. His sudden appearance made her jump, but she simply continued to look into the blond man's eyes, mesmerized by their depth.

"My lord," he said attempting to gain the blond warrior's attention, "Agamemnon requests your presence. The king's are gathering to celebrate the victory."

"Why would I want to look at him when I can look at her?" he asked, turning to face his comrade. Adonia was brought back to reality of where she was and who she was with; if she did anything that was incredibly stupid she would be dead in a heartbeat. The rough man in the doorway bowed his head and walked away, and the blond turned once again to look at Adonia.

"What do you want here in Troy?" Adonia asked quietly, as she looked at this man who was her captor. She did not know him, but she could see the hunger in his eyes was far different than any she had seen before, and she had seen many types of hunger. This was different however; he was not like the others who'd looked upon her with longing. "You didn't come for the Spartan queen."

"I want what all men want," he said, cocking his head to the side, "I just want it more. You don't have to fear me girl, and you're the only Trojan who can say that." Apparently that was all he was going to say, as he replaced his breastplate and walked from the tent, leaving Adonia alone. After a few moments, she picked up the courage to look outside the tent, and the only person she saw close by was a young man of similar appearance to the blond one sitting beside the doorway.

"He said you won't be allowed to wonder far," the young man said, "and I'm supposed to make sure you don't run away." He smiled at her, and she guess he wasn't much older than her.

"Who are you?" Adonia asked, not sure what to say first. The young man smiled and looked at his hands for a second before looking back at her. His smile was sincere, kind and almost gentle, he wasn't like she other men she'd seen. He had the muscle of a warrior, but he was young. He was roughly the same age as many of the trainees in her father's army. Men who would only be asked to fight when they were ready or out of absolute necessity.

"I am Patroclus, son of Menoetius. The men around you are…they are the Myrmidons, the greatest fighting men in all of Greece." Patroclus looked around him at all the battle hardened men, and Adonia could see then envy and admiration in his eyes.

"Aren't you one of them?" She asked, surprised that he had said _they_ instead of _we_.

"Not yet, my cousin won't let me fight. He's taught me how but he says he cannot win while worrying about me," Patroclus said rather crestfallen. From the look in his eyes she could tell he was angry with his cousin's choice. Patroclus was like most young men. He had a head full of stories and longed for glory. He wanted to be a hero and it seemed he wanted nothing more than to stand on the battlefield with his cousin. Just like Paris had been so long ago.

"Patroclus," she asked, looking down at the white sand, "who is the commander of this unit?"

"My cousin, Achilles. He's the best of Greece; he's never lost a battle, and is incredibly deadly in single combat." He spoke with admiration for his cousin, the blond warrior who'd thus far shown nothing but kindness to Adonia. She sat on the beach beside Patroclus, staring shocked and bewildered at the sand. Achilles, _the_ Achilles of Greece was her captor! The greatest warrior in all of Greece and his men held her prisoner. She was amazed at how such a brilliant warlord, the man who had won Thessaly with a single move, had been so kind to her.

"Are you all right?" Patroclus asked, the concern in his voice was genuine, and she looked up and smiled at him wearily.

"I'm alright, just a little overwhelmed. With his reputations, he wasn't what," she paused and bit her lip, searching for the right thing to say without angering or offending his kin, "He wasn't what I expected."

"I understand. There are two sides to Achilles. The man and the warrior, and both are fearless." They sat in silence for a moment, and Adonia looked at Patroclus to find him watching her. "I've answered your questions, now answer this: what was a daughter of Priam doing in a temple on the edge of a battlefield?" He spoke at almost a whisper, so that no one around would hear, but the fact that he knew who she was terrified her to no end.

"What makes you think that?" Adonia said, her voice shaking, perhaps betraying the sudden panic that was rising up inside her. If the Greeks knew who she was they could use her as leverage against her father, or worse, Hektor. The fact that this boy had figured it out after a few moments dismayed her.

"Adonia is not a very common name, and I have only heard it once. Odysseus told a story of a beautiful Trojan princess, with skin as pale as moonlight, with hair as black as night, and eyes as blue as ice. He said that, when her brother Hektor went off to battle, she became like a ghost, haunting the balconies of the palace, but never would she come down, she was always watching the coast; waiting for her brother's return. It is you, isn't it?" Patroclus asked, looking at her in a way that said he already knew the answer.

"Yes," she whispered nodding her head slightly, trying to keep herself from crying.

"So, how did you wind up in that temple?"

"I wasn't even supposed to be out here. I was walking the shoreline, looking for seashells, and I was walking through the temple when the alarm rang. It was impossible for me to reach the city before the ships beached, so the Priests attempted to hide me. It was my crying that gave me away," her voice was a little above a whisper, she was ashamed and humiliated, knowing that this man would go running to Agamemnon the first chance he got.

"We all make mistakes," Patroclus said sorrowfully, "but you don't need to worry Adonia, I will tell no one."

"Honest?" Adonia asked, her head snapping around to look at Patroclus in shock. The tears had been welling up in the corner of her eyes, and she whipped them away quickly. Why he would do such a thing for her was shocking. He had no connection to her, and he had no reason not to give her identity away.

"Yes, I promise. I do not want this war to be decided by an old man using a princess to bait a king," he was shaking his head, "it would be wrong, and I would not rat you out. Achilles told me to keep you safe, and telling Agamemnon who you are would do nothing but put you in danger." Adonia smiled at young Patroclus who suddenly tensed and grabbed the hilt of the sward that was next to him in the sand as two of Agamemnon's guards appeared. She assumed they worked for him, at least, from the red cloaks they wore. Red was the color of Agamemnon's house.

"The King is taking his share of Achilles' plunder," one of the guards grunted.

"Gold's inside," Patroclus snarled at the guards, it was clear he had no love for Agamemnon. Adonia admired his courage to stand up to them, but she had an awful feeling that the Greek king did not want Achilles' gold. She sat tense and still as a statue as the two men shifted their weight.

"He doesn't want the gold, he wants the girl," the other guard spat as he looked Adonia up and down, a disgusting, dishonorable look in his eyes. Adonia met his stare with as menacing a look as she could muster, her cold blue eyes threatening and violent like an ice storm.

"Well he can't have her," Patroclus said as he stood, slightly angling himself in front of Adonia, prepared to defend her.

"Don't make us kill you boy," the first guard threatened, and Adonia had the sickening feeling that he meant it. Standing, she placed a hand on Patroclus' arm and shook her head. This fight was useless; she would not have bloodshed over her.

Unlike every one else she'd encountered today, these guards didn't give a damn if they hurt her or not. When she didn't move fast enough the grabbed her arms and dragged her along, and then they forced her to stand against the wooden ship that, clearly, belonged to the ruler of Greece. Angrily she glared at them, and for several minutes no one moved, she was bracing herself against the ship, ready to turn and run at any moment, or at the first signs of danger. The next thing she knew however, she was being dragged up the ramp onto the deck of the ship.

She struggled to break free, confused about what was going on, and when she looked up she saw through the curtain of her bangs the mighty Achilles standing in the center of the covered deck. The strong, powerful, mighty Achilles stood looking at Adonia with a mixture of rage, shock, and a brief flash of horror. Apparently he'd thought the same thing Patroclus had, that Agamemnon would take his share in gold not in flesh. She struggled to break free of their grip, but these men were too strong, and held her steady. She eventually gave up fighting, tears running down her face as she accepted the humiliation before her.

"Spoils of war," a rather fat man, who she assumed was Agamemnon, said. His tone was arrogant and pompous, and no doubt would enrage the already angry Achilles.

"I've no argument with you brothers, but if you don't release her you'll never see home again," Achilles said, almost desperately, as he looked between the two men that restrained Adonia, "decide." He unsheathed his sword in the blink of an eye, and Adonia look in admiration at the liquidity of his movements, at the beauty and grace of his fighting stance, but then Agamemnon called for his guards, and nearly a dozen men swarmed into the room, far too many for one man to defeat. No matter how good a fighter he was.

"Stop!" Adonia cried as she finally broke free of the men holding her, "Too many people have died today! If killing's your only talent that's your curse, I don't want anyone dying for me." She said, shaking her head, pleading with Achilles to stop this nonsense. It would ruin her whole image of him if he were to butcher this entire room full of people only to keep her from a pig. Reluctantly, Achilles let his sword arm fall to his side, and he returned to a normal stance, frustrated and enraged. He clenched his fist, and she could tell that it was all he could do to keep himself from attacking the nearest man.

"Mighty Achilles," the fat king said, chuckling with amusement, "silenced by a slave girl! Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath," he said as he strolled behind her and took a lock of her hair and lifted it to his nose, "and then, who knows?"

"She's not a slave," Achilles snapped, his eyes were mercilessly hard as he glared at the so called King of Kings.

"She is now," Menelaus responded, a sadistic smile creeping up his lips. Adonia was glad she could not see it or the glint in his eyes.

During this time Achilles was prowling up and down the deck of the ship like a caged beast, his anger and rage rolling off of him in waves. "You sack of wine!" He shouted as Agamemnon said what he proposed to have Adonia do, and pleading with his eyes Achilles skirted around the group and brought his sward level with his eye and said, "before my time is done, King of Kings, I will look down on your corpse and smile," and then he stormed off the ship, leaving Adonia alone to whatever fate awaited her.

II

Hektor would not deny that the encounter with Achilles, the Greek warrior, shook him slightly. Techton was dead by an impossible throw, and Hektor had been almost certain, that at one point, he might have died. But he had been allowed to ride back to Troy and his family. Priam had been frantic with worry until he'd seen Hektor alive and then he had gone to thank Apollo for saving his son, next Andromache rushed forward to take hold of her husband.

"I was so afraid," she said, her voice quivering with the remnants of panic and fear that had flooded through her when she'd realized he wasn't there, that none of the men he had set out with had returned. To have him alive and in her arms was the greatest gift she could have been given at this moment.

"You have no need to fear now, I am alright," he said as he held Andromache close. His clear blue eyes scanned the crowd, worry suddenly taking hold. He had expected little Adonia to be one of the people to come forward like his father and Andromache had, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"What's wrong?" Andromache asked, frightened when her husband suddenly went ridged, "What's the matter? Hektor?"

"Where is Adonia?" He asked, doing the best he could to keep the fear from flooding his voice.

"I don't know, I saw her this morning on her way down the stairs. I haven't seen her since," Andromache said, looking around, worry casting a shadow on her features. She knew that Adonia was the favorite of Hektor's sisters, and that the girl adored him to pieces, and yet she wasn't here. She hadn't been anywhere during the battle, and suddenly, Andromache came to the same realization her husband had, looking up at him, frightened and bewildered she asked, "you don't think?"

"Stay here," he said as he ran into the palace, his heart racing. She had to be here, she had to be! There would have been no reason for her to leave the city, none at all! He raced headlong up the stairs and nearly collided with Paris.

"Hektor, what's wrong?" His younger brother asked, worry covering his face as it had Andromache's.

"Have you seen Adonia?"

"No," but before Paris could finish his response, Hektor swore and continued running up the steps to Adonia's apartment, Paris followed as quickly as he could, trying to ease his brother's headlong run. She had to be there, out on her balcony crying because she thought he was dead. Every time he'd been gone for too long she'd always run there to hide from the ridicule of others, she had to be there. That had to be it; she must have retreated up here to grieve by herself! Hektor prayed to the gods that he was right.

He didn't spare a thought for niceties and flung the door open and called out her name. Panic filled every second there was no answer, and when he found her balcony empty he almost collapsed form fear of what might have happened, of where she might be. Paris suggested they asked Helen where she was, they'd become good friends, and they'd been talking that morning. In haste that wasn't meant to be rude, they hurried down to Paris' apartment and asked a bewildered Helen if she'd seen Adonia at all that day.

"She said she was going to look for sea shells by Apollo's temple," Helen said, frightened by the panic she saw in both Hektor and Paris' eyes. "Please, tell me what's happening?"

"By Apollo's temple? Outside the wall?" Hektor said, trying to regain his senses. Achilles and his Myrmidons had been in that temple! Hektor had been in that Temple and he hadn't even noticed she was there! When he explained everything to his family, a devastated Priam and Hecabe, a sorrowful Andromache, and a frightened Helen and sickeningly pale Paris he blamed himself for not seeing her.

"If only I'd looked more carefully I might have seen her! I might have saved her!" Hektor said as he put his head in his hands and his wife wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"It's not your fault Hektor," Andromache said quitly, holding her husband as he began to cry.

"But it is! I swore to her that I'd protect her from anything and now she's either a captive of Achilles or Agamemnon or wondering the underworld and it's entirely my fault!"

"Get yourself together boy!" Priam said, his face was pale and he was trembling, "all we can do now is pray to the gods to keep her safe." That was the end of the conversation.

__________________________________________________

"If they want a war, we'll give them a war. I'd match the best of Troy against the best of Greece any day," Glaucus, Troy's leading general –aside from Hektor- said as he rose from his chair, his red hair was beginning to gray and his long reddish beard was braided and the ends were beginning to gray as well.

"The best of Greece outnumber the best of Troy, two to one," Velior, a large-bellied priest said as he rose from his chair to challenge Glaucus.

"So what do you suggest, we surrender the city, let the Greeks slaughter our men and rape our wives?" Glaucus nearly shouted at the priest as his anger began to rise.

"I suggest diplomacy. The Greeks came here for one thing. Let's be honest, my friends. Trojans are burning on the pyre right now because of one youthful indiscretion." Velior said in a direct stab at young Paris, who adverted his eyes to the floor at this point, knowing his and Helen's involvement would come up sooner or later.

"Glaucus, you've fought with me for forty years. Can we win this war?" Priam asked calmly, he was tired of his priests and his generals arguing like housewives. He also, was sick of hearing everyone suggest that giving a woman back would end this war. Paris was happy with Helen, and Priam was not about to watch his son die of sorrow.

"Our walls have never been breached. Our archers are the best in the world. And we have Hektor. His men would fight the shades of Tartarus if he commanded. We can win." Glaucus said proudly as he puffed out his chest and nodded in affirmation to the king. Applause filled the chamber after he spoke, and quickly died down as the high priest stood.

"I spoke with two farmers today. They saw an eagle flying with a serpent clutched in its talons. This is a sign from Apollo. We will win a great victory tomorrow." The high priest Archeptolemus said as he stood. He was confident in what he said and his voice made many of the men nod in responses.

"Bird signs! You want to plan our strategy based on bird signs?" Hektor said angrily. He was still fuming about the events that had taken place earlier in the day and now he wad being forced to sit here and listen to old men talk about war when all he wanted was his sister back.

"Hektor. Show respect. When Archeptolemus prophesied four years of drought, we dug deeper wells. The drought came and we had water to drink. The high priest is a servant of the gods." Priam said, indignant that his eldest son did not trust in the gods as he did, for he believed everything the priests said and put Apollo above any other being in this world.

"And I'm a servant of Troy. I've always honored the gods, father. You know that. But today I fought with a Greek who desecrated the statue of Apollo, murdered his priests and took my sister captive, and yet Apollo didn't strike the man down. The gods won't fight this war for us." Hektor said angrily, finally voicing the thing that angered him most, and he would have liked nothing more than to walk from the room and have nothing more to do with old men and their politics.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Outside she could hear the wind howling, the firewood cracking in the fire pits, and the laughter of brutish men. Above her, she could hear footsteps as men walked across the deck of Agamemnon's flagship, the wooden plants creaking. Adonia looked around the plain spaces she was being held in. Apparently it had formerly been the cargo hold whose contents now occupied the deck of the ship, the space was vacant and much plainer than the rest of the vessel. Crying softly she pulled her knees up to her chest, and rested her chin atop them. She could hear laughter coming from the deck above and angrily she turned her eyes to stare at the floor, how could these men be celebrating over their slaughter? Had none of their own men died? Did they have no pity for the people back home who would never again see those they loved?

Quietly she brooded over the events of the day, thinking of how in the morning she had been a princess of Troy, and now, in the late evening, she had been forced to become a slave of Greece. The type of kindness she'd received from both Achilles and Patroclus was far greater than she had expected, and she believed that if they had met on better terms, perhaps she could have become great friends with them. Involuntarily the memory of what had happened earlier on the deck flashed into her mind; she could see the shock and dismay upon Achilles face and still feel that rage that he'd directed at Agamemnon. She couldn't believe that a great warrior of Greece would stand up to the King of Kings for her, _but then again, _she thought as she shook her head, _he knows who I am, he knows what a prize I am._

Achilles, no matter how hard she looked at the picture in her mind, was not unlike all other men. He was a hero of Greece, and he had only become that way from years of war and bloodshed. How many widows had Achilles to blame for their loss? How many sons and daughters would never be held again by their fathers because of Achilles' blade? She had heard the stories of Thessaly, of how with one move Achilles killed a giant and won the war. With the edge of his sword he had helped Agamemnon claim all of Greece. No, he was no different than any other man.

Suddenly, Adonia wished she was back home in her bed or on her balcony, waiting for the sun to rise and for another day to begin. She wished she had been there, to embrace her brother as he came through the gates, to hold him close and beg him not to leave her again, as she'd done every time he'd come home from war in years past. By this time her absence had to have been noticed, Hektor had to have felt something was wrong, he must have known she wasn't there. Or, maybe they hadn't noticed. Perhaps he'd forgotten about her like everyone else had, she sighed and then lifted a hand to clench the necklace around her throat. At least she knew Hektor was alive, she knew there was still hope for Troy, and there was still hope that they could still emerge victorious from this massacre. So caught up in her thoughts, Adonia hadn't even noticed the man who'd come down the stairs. She looked up and cowered against the wall as she saw a man she did not recognize.

His dark hair was short and slightly curled, his gray eyes were intelligent, but he was like all the rest: a thickly muscled brute that'd no doubt killed his share of Trojans today. He smiled tiredly and sat against the far wall, looking Adonia in the eye. His action surprised her, but she did not let it show in her face or her eyes, these Greeks were strange men. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, still observing her. No longer did Adonia feel tense, for some reason she felt like she could trust this man, and it was an odd feeling, seeing as she didn't even know who he was.

"Of all the stories I tell, Lady Adonia, you are by far my favorite," the man said, his voice was gentle, and kind, "I am Odysseus, King of Ithika, and friend of Achilles."

"I have heard many tales of the King of Ithika and his adventures, but Patroclus tells me you are the greatest story teller of all the Greeks," Adonia said dimly. He hadn't even asked her name, he'd simply known who she was by looking at her. In all her life Adonia had never thought of herself as unique, or recognizable, but the fact the at least three Greeks who had never seen her before had recognized her by her appearance frightened her. How long would it be before Agamemnon figured out who she was?

"I'm sure no one tells them as well as I do, and Patroclus has always loved my stories since he was a boy," Odysseus warily rose to his feet and smiled reassuringly at Adonia. "You have no reason to fear tonight, Princess. Agamemnon is too drunk to move from his chair, and I have a feeling you won't be here for long."

"What makes you think that?" She asked meekly as she held tighter to Hektor's gift, wishing with all her heart that she wasn't here, that she was home in her room, listening to the council meeting below. Of all the adventures she'd dreamed of as a child being that captive of murderous invaders had not been one of them, and although this King was kind enough, moods changed. _Their moods may change, but their actions never do._

"I have heard from Patroclus that Achilles is so outraged with Agamemnon that he refuses to fight tomorrow," Odysseus said as he ran his hand through his hair again. Adonia figured it must be a nervous habit of his; she had seen her father do it years ago when he'd been under incredible amounts of pressure, he then turned to look at Adonia with questioning eyes. "I wonder what it is about you that set his soul on fire."

"What?" Adonia asked in amazement. It wasn't the question she had expected, but it was something that was hidden in the back of her mind. What was it about her that had somehow drawn the attention of the greatest warrior in all of Greece? Indeed, when she'd been around him something in her very soul had stirred, it was different than the love she had for her brother, but it was almost as strong and almost as natural and true. Was she falling in love with a murderer? Or, as Patroclus had said, was she falling in love with the man that he was? The thought disturbed Adonia, and she pushed it away.

"To think that a man who was born for War would refuse to fight because of a girl," he shook his head and began to head for the stairs, but then turned back to look at her, "I meant no offense, Lady Adonia. I will enjoy seeing how your story plays out; I now have more to add to the tale."

"Is that all I am? A story?" Adonia asked, feeling the anger and the sickness of her situation overflowing her senses. It was odd, that a man as great a warrior as Achilles, who had stories told about him all across the Great Green, a man who was as invincible as Hektor, refused to fight because of someone like her.

"In the end Princess, that's what we all are. A story that might be told of us when our children's children are dead," Odysseus said with finality as he marched up the stairs, she heard the door to the cargo hold open, then shut again with the loud thud of a bolt being slid across, driving home the point that she was still a prisoner.

Despite what the King of Ithika had said, Adonia was listless and tense the entire night. She didn't dare shut het eyes in fear that she would open them to the horrors that befell a prisoner of war, whether they knew her position or not. The night passed slowly, the hours ticking away and feeling as if it took lifetimes for the moon to set and the sun to rise. Somewhere, late in the night, after all had gone quiet Adonia had given in to how tired she was. And as she slept, to her horror, she dreamed.

**II**

Odysseus emerged from the cargo hold and exited the ship; he'd been able to slip away without notice. Many of the men were far too drunk to even remember their own names. Quietly, he began to walk to his own ship, knowing his soldiers would be gathered around their campfire, waiting for him. As he walked, however, he thought about his conversation with Adonia. She was fairly young, but her resemblance to Hektor was uncanny. She had his face, but it was softer, more feminine, _as it should be_. The memory of how hard and cold her eyes had been, she was a defiant young woman, full of fire and spirit. Perhaps that was what had captured Achilles' heart.

He sighed as he remembered how unsure she'd been, and then how surprised she'd appeared when he'd used her name. She may not remember him, but he had met her long ago, when she was a child. She was extremely young, maybe three or four, but her eyes had been the same, defiant and challenging, and her hair had been just as dark, just as beautiful. Years later he would hear the story from Hektor how she'd nearly fallen from her balcony and how that balcony had become her perch as she watched the seas, waiting for her brother to come home.

That itself was mainly what he had based his tales off of, the lovely ghost of a princess who stood on her balcony, waiting for her dearest brother to return victorious from battle, but now he had more to add to the story. Instead of the ghost she was now the defiant young princess who'd been captured by enemy invaders, but she herself had captured the heart of their greatest warrior. _Perhaps_, he thought,_ there will be more to add by the end of this accursed war_. His men roared as they spotted him, he lifted his hand in greeting and pushed thoughts of young Adonia from his mind. He'd soon learn how this story, her story, and Achilles' story would play out.

**III**

_She was standing on an open plain of sand; walls of solid stone enclosed the space on three sides. In the sand lay bodies of men whose names she did not remember and faces she had never seen. She wandered barefoot across the plane and down toward the beach where she saw two men, battling intensely. They were encircled by soldiers who were mesmerized by the two competing warriors' beauty and grace, the fluidity of their movements was outstanding, and breathtaking to watch. Something was wrong however, the combatant in the armor of gold and black was struggling, he was unable to identify the openings that were being placed before him accidentally by the warrior clad in silver and blue._

_Adonia circled around the spectators and found herself next to Odysseus, who was looking on in disbelief. Adonia's stomach lurched as she realized that the gold and black armor belong to Achilles, and as she looked close at the man in blue and silver she saw with dismay that it was Hektor. Her beloved brother and the man she believed she had feelings for were battling, and only one would walk away. In silent horror Adonia watched as, with a swing of his blade, Hektor felled Achilles. The people around her wore faces of disbelief and shock, how could the mighty Achilles have been defeated so easily?_

_She watched Hector stands next to the fallen man. He wedged the tip of his sword inside the bronze helmet and lifted it off of the dying man's head. To her horror Adonia sees that it is not Achilles, but Patroclus who was dying in the sand, trying to breathe as his throat flooded with blood. His eyes were panicked and Adonia cried out in sorrow, but none could hear. For a moment she watched them stare at each other, the victorious prince of Troy and the dying boy in the sand. The sounds of Patroclus' gurgling breaths visibly seemed to upset Hektor, and Adonia could feel herself weeping, but none seemed to notice. With an anguished cry Hektor took up his sword and brought it down, ending his suffering in a single, decisive blow._

She woke suddenly in a cold sweat, and after a moment realized what was happening around her. Outside she could hear the army of Agamemnon marching off the beach, headed for the grassy plane before the gates of Troy. Adonia tried to take deep breaths, tried to calm herself, but how could she? In a dream she had witnessed the death of a boy who she had trusted, who she had practically befriended. That was when the real sorrow and the grief hit, she sobbed, the tears rolling from her eyes uncontrollably. There was no way to warn Patroclus or Achilles, there was no way she could tell either of them what lay ahead. She was useless, imprisoned by men who deserved to die and fade from history. These cowards would not be remembered, merciful men like Hektor and stupid men like Paris, who caused wars by their indulgent actions, would be remembered. But what about Heroes like Achilles and Odysseus? Would their stories be told a thousand years from now?

_In a thousand years we will all be nothing but shades of the underworld,_ Adonia thought pitifully and she drew her knees to her check and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She had not realized how exhausted she had been, and with Agamemnon and his men gone, there was no reason for her to worry. So long as the army was away, she was safe, but when she woke, the hunting memory of her dream worried her. Was it simply or dream? Or had it been a vision from Apollo or one of the other Gods? There had to be something she could do!

Frustrated and irritated at how childish she was being, Adonia rose and began to pace the length of the cargo hold, searching the planking for weak spots that she could break through. _Stupid girl!_ She chided herself; _there are no weak spots in a war vessel!_ She continued to pace, but only to keep her mind from wandering, to keep her from thinking of all the nightmares that had haunted her sleeping hours, to keep from dwelling on the deaths to come. There had to be a way she could save them, Patroclus, Achilles, Hektor, there had to be a way! As she paced she thought and thought until her head ached, and still she had nothing more than a cluster full of truths that she could not deny.

Achilles and Hektor were the greatest warriors of the greatest nations, and to pit themselves against each other would prove who the better was, but one would not stop until the other was dead. Whoever was the victor would be eternally glorified, while the other might fade from memory, it was a terrible thing to fathom. But, if Patroclus fought Hektor and lost, it would tear Achilles apart and he might seek revenge on Hektor, and if that came to pass Adonia feared the worst may happen.

She rubbed her temples and spun to face the end of the ship where she'd spent the night, and she could hear men returning from battle, but they were not hollering and whooping as they were last night. They had lost! The Trojan army had been able to resist their attack! Smiling, Adonia praised the gods for giving her people the strength to resist the Greek's attacks and for being able to crush their moral. Adonia's sprits were crushed however, when she began to wonder if Achilles had taken part in the battle, and if he didn't care about her after all.

**IV**

Achilles stalked back to camp slightly satisfied, but still fuming about earlier events. Agamemnon's forces had been forced to retreat, he'd been unorganized and sloppy, and expecting to stop the well organized, well trained Trojans by numbers alone. He smirked as he recalled Adonia's bravery, her authority as she'd stood up to him, but the memory darkened as Agamemnon's words and his face returned to Achilles mind. Anger fumed inside Achilles, but he concealed it as he stormed angrily into his tent, his men milling about outside. Patroclus had been eerily silent since Adonia's removal, and he began to wonder if she'd been kinder, more open to Patroclus than she had been to him. They were nearer in age, but perhaps she'd felt safer around him, someone who'd never shed blood, someone who knew how to fight, but did not fight.

He sat before the flickering fire, staring at the spot where she'd been not a day ago, he recalled her image, how she'd looked and how she'd acted. She was incredibly brave, meeting his gaze, her eyes challenging; their icy blue depths threatening to consume him. She was incredibly beautiful; her hair was like a black veil that she could hide behind, its wildness making her look like an untamable goddess.

Achilles recalled how defiant she'd been at first, challenging his questions and fighting him with words. From that first moment he'd met her gaze his soul had belonged to her. Every part of his being screamed that she was the one who could make him whole, that she was the one who could save him from this tormented, blood stained life. Now, staring into space, Achilles knew in his heart, sick with the loss of her, that without Adonia, beautiful precious Adonia, he would never be whole. That pig, Agamemnon, had made sure to take the one thing that Achilles suddenly cared for. And on the ship! Her words had stung worse than a hornet, but he'd been so angry with himself for letting this happen.

Instinct suddenly kicked in, and Achilles rose from his bed and walked out of his tent, and headed down toward the beach. He didn't know why, all he knew was something was going to happen, and that there was something he could do to stop it.

**V**

The day faded into evening, and Adonia could hear shouting on the upper deck, she could hear Agamemnon stamping around like a child. Adonia couldn't exactly make out what the conversation was about, but she knew something had happened beside the Greek's loss, outside she could hear the burning and cracking of firewood, and smell the burning of flesh. Agamemnon's yelling ceased and Adonia spun around as the trap door was yanked open and two soldiers hurried down the stairs towards her, sinister smiles on their faces.

As the grabbed her wrists she struggled and kicked, slapping one man in the face, digging her nails into his cheek. Only a second later she felt his retribution, her face stinging with pain from where he'd hit her, her jaw ached from the intensity of the man's blow. She was lifted from her feet, and although she thrashed the men kept a firm grip on her, shaking her from time to time to try and _encourage_ her cooperation.

She was dragged off the ship and thrown down beside a campfire. She scrambled to her feet as her arms were recaptured and someone doused her in liquid, most likely wine. The battle-weary soldiers shoved her back and forth between them, they seemed tired and Adonia noticed they were caked with dirt and blood. At one point she slapped one of the men who grabbed her, he punched her in return, it would leave a large, purple bruise under one eye. She was disgusted by the looks in their eyes; it seemed to be a mixture of hostility and lust. _Ugly murderous dogs, you all deserve to die by my brother's blade!_

"You Trojan whore!" One of the men cried out as he grabbed at her skirt, tearing the hem.

"We should kill her now; keep her from breeding any more Trojan bastards!" A man near the fire shouted as Adonia was shoved across their circle again. As she moved over the ground, her ankle twisted, and she fell to the dirt, whimpering at the hot pain that burned through her leg. She was kicked brutishly in the stomach, and she gritted her teeth to keep from giving them the satisfaction of her pain. She was grabbed by the hair and dragged up to her feet.

"No, she's Agamemnon's property. What's this? A virgin's robe?" The first cried as he spotted the white the lay beneath the black. Although Adonia wore black she did not abandon the custom of wearing the virgin white, it was just always hidden behind the darkness she wore.

"You won't be needing that much longer," one of the men who had dragged her to and from the ship said. He was squatting by the fire, holding an iron in the flames. Adonia watched in horror as he pulled out the white hot branding iron in the shape of Agamemnon's seal: a scorching hot alpha. He carried it toward where Adonia was being restrained; she fought against the man's grip, trying to escape the searing pain she knew was coming. "Hold her down."

She began to fight harder as the man lumbered toward her, the iron in his hand, glowing in the dark light of evening. Fear of the pain swam in Adonia's eyes and she kicked and screamed at the men around her. She nailed one man in the knee and was almost able to break free of the second before she was restrained again, only this time, the man who held her twisted her arm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at the pain. All she could do was continue to struggle, her ice blue eyes focused solely on the branding iron as it drew nearer and nearer to her flesh.

"Why are you kicking, girl? Better to be a Spartan slave than a Trojan priestess," the man with the branding iron spat as he said her country's name. Angrily, Adonia broke free long enough to scratch the man in the face, digging her nails into he soft flesh under his eyes. He growled before punching her in the jaw, the pain making her vision swim. "Come on, come on, hold her down!"

Three men now held her steady, her fighting stopped momentarily by the pain in her jaw. The man with the iron brand faltered as he searched for the best place to mark his master's new slave. He seemed to her arm was the best place. The brand was inches from her arm, and Adonia screamed as she tried to shrink away. It was not a scream of pain, but one of frustration, that no matter how hard she tried she couldn't escape, that there was nothing she could do to alter her fate. The heat of the iron was close now, perhaps only a breath away from her flesh, and she prepared herself for the stinging, screaming pain that would scorch and permanently scar her skin.

Suddenly, the heat disappeared, and Adonia looked up to see someone removing the iron from the man's hand and spinning it around to sink the white-hot metal into the man's neck. He cried out in pain before collapsing to the ground. Her defender spun around as one of the soldiers drew his sword. Adonia saw with shock that the man who had come to her aid was Achilles, unarmed save for the iron, and as the men stepped forward he whipped the iron around with great speed and hit a man's jaw. The sailor fell to the ground without a sound, Adonia glowed in slight pleasure. Adonia noticed many of the men stumble backwards; she was released suddenly and fell to the ground. She noted the fear in the men's eyes. She looked back at Achilles and realized how ferocious he looked, and Adonia thought he looked magnificent, very much like a young god.

"Achilles," one of the men spat, finally realizing who'd stopped them from harming her. He drew his sword and turned to the soldiers around him, "there's one of him and ten of us." As soon as his words had left his lips, Achilles whipped the iron around almost too fast for the eye to follow. Them man's face then collapsed, and he fell to the beach.

"Nine," Achilles corrected bitterly. Adonia recognized the concealed rage in his voice, sometimes she'd heard it in Hektor's voice when he was extremely angry, which normally came after he'd been called to battle. The other soldiers turned and ran, fearful that they may be the next to hit the sand. Handsome Achilles tossed the iron to the ground and lifted Adonia to her feet, more gently than she would have believed after his brutish display. With a gentle hand he brushed the sand from her face, and looked in her eyes.

"Can you walk?" He asked gently. Gritting her teeth at the stabbing pain in her ankle, Adonia shook her head. Without further word, Achilles lifted her from her feet and carried her back to his tent, away from the gruesome campfire. Formerly Adonia would've been disgusted and sick when Achilles had killed those men, but he had done it to save her, and for that she was grateful. Outside Achilles' tent waited Patroclus and Eudorus, the rough man who had found Adonia in the temple. Adonia saw Patroclus scramble to his feet; she couldn't recognize or register the look on his face.

"Get me food and water. And a new robe," Achilles said quietly as he carried Adonia into the tent, she saw Eudorus bow and Patroclus continue to watch them. She felt the sickness rise in her stomach. She had been saved by Achilles, but could she now find a way to save all of the men she loved? Could she find a way to talk Achilles out of fighting her brother? Sudden realization hit her, the only way to save Hektor was to save Patroclus, and the only way to save Patroclus was to stop her brother from killing him. _Easier said than done_.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Achilles carried Adonia into the tent and gently placed her on his bed. She struggled away fearfully from him until her back was against the wall, she tried so hard to conceal her pain, but it was extremely evident in her eyes, that she knew. Her thoughts had been bleak. She knew what soldiers did to defenseless girls, but what surprised her was that Achilles backed off. She had expected him to force himself upon her, but instead she watched the Greek warlord as he brought forth a basin of water and a clean rag, and when he withdrew the rag and attempted to clean the wounds on her face Adonia refused to let him touch her. He attempted a second time, but again she batted his hand away. The frustration was clear in his eyes as he threw the rag at her, by instinct she picked it up and sent it right back.

To her surprise he placed it back in the basin and turned away, leaving her with enough time to snatch it from the basin and lightly wipe the blood from her bruised and battered face. She watched Achilles warily as he brought forth a platter covered in fruits and roasted meats, and she could not deny that she was hungry, but she didn't trust him. She was sick from his necessary display of brutality, and she was grateful that he had saved her, but giving in and letting him care for her was another matter all together.

"You should eat," he said softly, but she made no answer, only continued to wipe the blood from her face, wincing now and then as she hit a sore spot. He turned to look at her, taking in the sight of her, battered and beaten, but still defiant and proud. "Did they hurt you?"

"What do you think?" She returned coldly as she placed the rag back into the water basin and lightly touched the swollen flesh around her right ankle, wincing as it stung with pain. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but Achilles still seemed to notice, she saw his body tense.

"I saw you fight them, you have courage," He said gently as he moved closer and took her left foot in his hands, she didn't protest. She was more afraid that he would twist it and manipulate her than help her. She winced and whimpered as his skillful hands gently moved across her ankle, prodding the muscles, trying to find the source of her pain.

"To fight back when people attack me? A dog has that kind of courage," she said before biting her lip as he lightly worked the muscles around her ankle, she would admit that amidst the pain, his touch felt good against her skin, and a feeling rose in her stomach that she didn't recognize.

"I like dogs more than I like people," he said, smiling as he looked into her eyes and met her gaze. He was intrigued by how strong she was and how little pain she showed, or at least that was what Adonia hoped as she tired to keep from pulled her ankle from his hands, and that was about all she could do. "It doesn't feel broken, it may only be sprained," he said softly as he took a bandage from a near by bag and began to wrap it around her ankle, proving it was a support similar to a splint.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Adonia picked at the food beside her, slowly chewing a piece of fruit. After not having eaten in roughly two days Adonia was starving, but she did the best she could to keep from looking like a pig in front of Achilles, although it would have been justifiable. Finally she swallowed and looked up at him, he'd been watching her the entire time and she asked quietly, "Why did you choose this life?"

"What life?" He asked as he watched her, the fire light dancing in his eyes, she looked away, afraid her eyes might betray her heart and what it was beginning to feel. How could a man who she barely met have this effect on her? He was a killer and a fiend. He had desecrated a sacred temple and sacked all it had, yet still her heart fluttered.

"This," she said as she gestured around the tent, "to be a great warrior."

"I chose nothing, I was born and this is what I am," Achilles said as he adverted his eyes and gazed into the fire. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't discern, whether it was anger, helplessness or something else, Adonia knew she'd probably never know.

"But you must enjoy it," she said disdainfully as she looked into the fire, watching as the flames danced and consumed the wood that was laid before it. The shadows that were cast on the wall were eerie and haunting, and it was all Adonia could do to keep from looking into them and being swallowed by the horrors they held for her. Even as she looked into the flames the visions of her dreams continued to stir, dancing in the dying wood.

"Does the scorpion feel joy when he stings the beetle?" Achilles asked thoughtfully and sighed, "I doubt it. I doubt he feels anything at all."

"But you're not a scorpion. You're a man," Adonia countered, "you know right from wrong and truth from lies. You know better than an animal."

"Do we? A truth of Troy may be a lie of Greece, and a right to you may be a wrong to me. But you're a woman in love with a god. Where was Apollo when those men tried to scar you?" Achilles asked, tilting his head to the side, looking at Adonia quizzically, the challenge clear in his eyes and in his voice.

"Do you enjoy provoking me?" Adonia snapped at Achilles. He was a very irritating man, pushing every button he could find, trying to discern who she was through what little he already knew.

"Yes," he answered, smiling. Adonia felt her anger rise and she bit her tongue, trying to keep from shouting at the man who'd saved her life. He continued to sit and watch her, and under his gaze she became uncomfortable and restless. "You dedicated your life to the gods, yes?" When she did not answer he continued. Had he already forgotten she was no acolyte? "Zeus god of thunder, Athena goddess of wisdom, you serve them?"

"Of course, all people of Troy do," Adonia responded, looking down into the fire, becoming consumed by its inviting depth.

"And Aries, god of war, who blankets his bed with the skins of men he's killed?" It had been a clever trick, setting a trap that she hadn't expected. Perhaps he was not so stupid after all, but she refused to give him credit just yet.

"All the gods are to be feared and respected," she said with confidence. It had been a safe answer, one that both countered and answered his question. For a long moment there was silence between them as they sat staring at each other. The air between felt as if it was charged with more than just mere contention, but Adonia refused to recognize the feeling.

"I'll tell you a secret," he said as he moved slightly closer, but left space between them, so Adonia felt no alarm, "something they didn't teach you in your temples. The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because every moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed." He stared at her with such intensity that she had to turn away, lest his gaze become more than she could bear. Gently he took her jaw in his hand and made her look at him, "You will never be lovelier than you are right now. And we will never be here again."

"I thought you were a dumb brute," she muttered as she looked into his eyes, "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

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That night Adonia lay awake, unsure of what the images of her nightmare had meant. Shuttering, she remembered the dream as if it were still before her eyes, and the waking nightmare began to haunt her every thought.

_She was in incredibly pain, but she didn't know where it was coming from, shivers of pain ran through her spine and she felt helpless against it, like a knife was digging into her belly and being twisted. Suddenly, the pain ended, but there were cries of a different kind. A child lay in the blackness, struggling to breathe, and she was powerless to help it. She felt weak, she felt her strength draining away, and as she turned her head to the blackness, she saw two men lying on the funeral pyres. One was clad in silver and blue, the other in gold and black._

Adonia shuddered and pulled her knees up to her chest again, it was quickly becoming something of a bad habit. Adonia shivered and looked into the dying flames of the fire, and in its depths she glimpsed war. She could see Achilles in his brilliant gold and black, cleaving his way through men in silver and blue. He was the killer of sons, husbands and fathers, driving his way through the group of battling men, her countryman, her people. Adonia silently lifted the knife near her and let the fire sparkle on its curved edge. She knew she had to do it. If she wasn't able to kill him, how many more of her countrymen would he slay? Would he kill her brother, as her dreams foretold? How many more people would have to die before this man met his end?

She looked over to where Achilles was, sound asleep. To think after all he had done, it was amazing how peacefully he slept, how in his sleep his features softened and became even more handsome. Adverting her eyes once again, she recalled the feeling of his hands on her swollen ankle, how wonderful his touch had felt, of the way it had caused her stomach to flutter. The feelings he stirred in her no other man had stirred before, _and never again would_. Silently, she made a pact to her heart and to the gods. If she struck Achilles down never again would she allow herself to love someone, no matter what they made her feel. She looked back over at Achilles, and she wondered what could have been. Shaking her head Adonia knew it was no use, she had to do this.

Silent as death she moved to his bed side and lightly placed to metal against the soft flesh of his throat, she watched as his eyes opened easily, but there was no other indication of shock or surprise, there wasn't even hurt or betrayal in his eyes. She mentally flinched, expecting him to strike her, but her hand held steady as if some invisible force was keeping her from retreating. She had to do this…

"Go on," he said gently, "nothing is easier."

"Aren't you afraid?" Adonia asked as she held the knife steady against his throat. She should have been trembling, but the fire in his eyes and what she knew she had to do; Adonia did not falter. This had to be done.

"Every mortal dies. Today or fifty years from now, what does it matter in the face of eternity?" The fire in his eyes could have burned her if it was real, and she knew the resolve in her eyes must have hurt him.

"You'll kill more men if I don't kill you," Adonia, despite all her strength and resolve felt her voice tremble. How could Achilles, in the face of death, show no fear?

"Many of them." For several seconds, they stayed silent, Adonia holding the knife against the throat of Achilles, but finally she put it down, knowing she didn't have the strength to watch the light fade from his eyes. Achilles sat up, and placed a gentle hand on the back of her neck and slowly pulled her to him. The kiss was gentle and yet passionate and filled with the fire and lust they'd both concealed over the past several days. Gently Achilles slid the robe off her shoulder, momentarily Adonia hesitated before the hesitation evaporated as she pressed herself against him, and their hunger for each other was stronger than that of warring nations or the passion of the gods.

**II**

Achilles sat in the early dawn and watched Adonia as she slept; she looked young and so fragile with the cuts and bruises that blemished her beautiful face. He watched her tenderly as her eyelids fluttered while she dreamed, and he suddenly wondered what it was she dreamed about. Sunlight streamed into the tent as Eudorus brushed aside the tent flap, and nodded his head as he saw Adonia's sleeping form. Gently, Achilles pulled the blankets over the princess' naked shoulder and looked down at her once again before leaving his tent to find Odysseus waiting outside.

"Have the men start loading the ship. We're going home," Achilles said to Eudorus, who waited quietly outside the tent. Surprised, Eudorus stood still for a moment, hesitating and looking at Odysseus before he bowed to Achilles and walked away to fulfill his lord's wish. Achilles smiled as he thought of how bravely his men had fought and how loyal they had been, and still were, to him. He did not wish to see another one of them lose their life in this meaningless war.

"You found the girl?" Odysseus asked grimly as he interrupted Achilles' thoughts. It was clear from the clash in Odysseus' eyes he had mixed feelings about Achilles' choice to leave.

"I found her," Achilles said simply, knowing Odysseus would have discovered the detail of the events from Agamemnon's men himself. Achilles was not one for grand stories, which was Odysseus' area of expertise.

"Is she hurt?" Odysseus asked politely, as he settled into a log on the sandy beach beside the entrance of the tent.

"Not as badly as those who hurt her," Achilles offered as he sat beside his friend and gazed out at the sea. He watched as seagulls circled in the sky, calling to one another and themselves. He watched as the waves rolled rhythmically upon the shore. It was all so peaceful in this time of war. "Do you miss your wife Odysseus?"

"Always," his friend offered, taken aback by Achilles' sudden question.

"I've never missed anyone in my life. I used to think it was a weakness, needing someone else." Achilles shook his head, his blond hair twisting from the motion before a cool sea breeze made it dance in the air. His eyes were dark as he looked out at the rolling waters.

"We all need someone else. Right now, Greece needs you," Odysseus said as he looked at his young friend. He'd known Achilles all his fighting days, and had watched him grown and develop his skills and hone his talents. Achilles was by far the greatest warrior he had ever known, or would ever know for that matter. The man was a natural born killer, and while Odysseus was glad that his friend had finally found someone worth being with, he was angry and upset that he was throwing away everything he'd been born for.

"Greece got along fine before I was born and Greece will be Greece long after I'm dead," Achilles responded bluntly, clearly not wanting to breech the subject. He was set on his decision.

"I'm not talking about the land. The valleys, the mountains – they don't care what we do. The men need you. You should have seen the slaughter yesterday." Odysseys said as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, a nervous habit that Achilles had grown quite accustomed to seeing his perform over the long years of their friendship.

"I saw it. And I saw who led the men to slaughter." Achilles voice was tired, and there was veiled anger underneath the weariness. He was tired; tired of fools like Agamemnon thinking he could win a war in number alone. The Trojans were skilled fighters and with a commander like Hektor they would need to out think the Trojans before they could defeat them. Agamemnon failed to see that.

"Agamemnon... is a proud man. But he knows when he's made a mistake."

"The man sends you to make his apologies? He doesn't understand honor. What are you doing in thrall to that pig of a king?" Achilles laughed, it was filled with a slight bitterness. Of all the men he hated, it was Agamemnon, and to hear his greatest friend defending the stupid man was a laugh worth having.

"The world seems simple to you, my friend. But when you're a king, very few choices are simple. Ithaca cannot afford an enemy like Agamemnon." Achilles knew that even before Odysseus said it, and it was true. Agamemnon was the greatest ally for little Ithika to have, and it not only offered protection but brought wealth and power into the little country.

"Am I supposed to fear him?" Achilles asked, raising his eye brow, the amusement dancing in his tone and in his clear blue eyes. They were not as striking as Adonia's, but where just as powerful.

"You don't fear anyone, that's your problem. Fear is useful. Stay, Achilles. You were born for this war."

"My life is war. Is that what you think?" Achilles asked, the humor gone from his voice.

"Am I wrong?" Odysseus asked as he watched Achilles turn back to look out at the sea, his mind just as troubled as the waves that tossed about in the breeze.

"A week ago you were right. But things are less simple today," Achilles sighed as he hesitated to look back up at his tent, wondering if Adonia had risen yet. As he thought of her, he could not keep the smile from his face. She was everything he had never been, innocent and lovely, kind and gentle, things he never before dreamed he would be. She had shown him something that he feared he would never again see if he stayed. Of all things he held dearly, the thought of losing her was like a knife through his heart.

"Women have a way of complicating things," Odysseus joked, and saw his friend smile. The two laughed for a moment before Achilles turned and clasped his friend's arm.

"Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you most. But in this war you're a servant. And I refuse to be a servant any longer," Achilles said as he smiled at his longtime friend. They had shared so much together, but most of those memories were drenched in blood, written through the fire of combat. For once, Achilles didn't want it to end like that. With a single person his dream had shifted, and it was no longer covered in the blood of thousands.

"Sometimes you need to serve in order to lead. I hope you understand that one day," Odysseus said before he turned and strode away. Achilles sighed and shook his head before turning back to his tent where Patroclus was standing. Achilles wondered if he'd been there the whole time, listening to their conversation and from the look on his face Achilles had a feeling that Patroclus had.

"We're going home?" Patroclus asked, and although he was normally easy to read, his eyes were clouded and his expression dark. He had heard.

"We leave at dawn," Achilles said simply as he began to head back into the tent, but Patroclus grabbed his arm and blocked his path. All Achilles did was simply look at his cousin's hand, his expression cool and unreadable, Patroclus released him, but didn't quite seem through with this confrontation.

"If Poseidon curses us and our ship goes down, what will I tell the shades in Hades? That I died running from this war, abandoning our countrymen?" The anger was thick in Patroclus' voice, and Achilles knew he was troubled and upset, but he had already made the choice. He would not jeopardize what it had taken him nearly a lifetime of war to find.

"Our countrymen?" Achilles asked. He nearly spat the words out, these men were not on equal level with any one of the Myrmidons, including Patroclus, he may not have faced combat yet but he was a good, strong man who would live a worthy life without bloodshed.

"Yes, our country!" Patroclus said, the passion in his voice taking over, "We're Greek, cousin. I broke bread with these men, I drank their wine, I listened to their jokes. These are our comrades. We cannot desert them. Your feud with Agamemnon is tearing this army apart. And your reputation suffers. The men are talking," his voice faded as he looked into Achilles' eyes and saw his temper raising.

"If my blood wasn't in your veins," the threat was barely concealed, but in truth Achilles did not want to harm his cousin. The boy simply needed to learn that there was more to life than a bloodstained sword, a dented shield, and a funeral pyre.

"But your blood is in my veins," Patroclus said, the look on his face just as defiant as Adonia's had been when she'd refused to allow those men to harm her without a fight. It was a look that he admired and loathed at the same time.

"I gave you an order, cousin. We leave at dawn," Achilles said flatly as he brushed aside the tent flap and prepared to enter.

"If you command us not to fight for the king of kings, so be it. But please don't ask me not to fight for Greece. When the shades hear my name I want them to know I led a worthy life." Patroclus turned and the stormed away from Achilles, not knowing what to say, Achilles turned and walked away.

**III**

Hektor sat beside his father silently, once again the war council was gathered, Priests and Generals alike. Archeptolemus, the high priest, held the floor and his voice filled the hall that was lined with statues of the gods, and although Hektor may not have agreed with his father, he had been praying every night for Adonia to be returned, or at least held safe. But he knew the fate of women in war, and every thought of her was clouded by all the horrific possibilities that could have happened to her by now.

"The omens are gathering. The directive is clear," the high priest said as he faced the king, his face worn and tired, his blue and white robed adorned only with a small pendant the man always wore.

"Fight for your country. That's the only directive," Hektor said, trying not to snap, but he was being as true as he could. If they were too hasty in their course of action they could very well jeopardize their entire cause and bring down all of Troy. This was not a decision to be made with blind faith, but with careful logic and planning.

"The last time the high priest spoke to us he prophesied a great victory for Troy. We won a great victory. Let him speak," Priam said angrily to his eldest son, and Hektor simply let it roll off his back, like he always did. They had not won a great victory because of the gods, but because of the discipline and skill of their soldiers. Looking back at the high priest Priam said, "What course of action do you recommend?"

"The gods favor our cause. Now is the time to destroy the Greek army." There were cries of agreement throughout the great hall, mostly from those who believed that the gods decided the wars, and it only made Hektor more frustrated with these mindless fools.

"Glaucus?" Priam said, raising his voice slightly to call for order and silence all at once.

"Their morale is battered. Hit them now, hit them hard, and they will run." The cheers started up again and were silenced when Velior the priest stood.

"I must admit," He said humbly, "I overestimated the Greeks. They lack discipline and courage." Hektor couldn't help but roll his eyes as his frustration mounted. Wearily he rubbed his eyes, tired of old men talking and trusting in anyone but themselves to see them through this mess.

"The Myrmidons did not fight yesterday," Hektor said as he rose, striding out before the council members, looking the high priest and the large general Glaucus in the eyes, "There must be dissension among the Greeks. But if we attack their ships, we'll unify them. If they decide to attack, let them. They can't breach our walls," he turned back to face his father, "We'll beat them back again. Yesterday the Greeks underestimated us. We should not return the favor today." He watched as his father meditated on this conflicting advice, Hektor could only hope that his father made the right choice.

"You're confident about the meaning of these omens?" Priam asked his high priest as he stood and faced the man.

"The desecration of his temple angers Apollo. The gods have cursed the Greeks. Two of their kings have already gone down to the dust," The high priest said as he looked Priam in the eye. Nodding, the king began to pace the width of the hall, thinking how best to act. "Prepare the army. We attack at daybreak."

"Father," Hektor said exasperated, "We're making a mistake."

"Prepare the army."

**VI**

Adonia sat in the cabin of Achilles' great warship, she watching as he tied a hammock to a peg. No longer did she hide the tenderness in her eyes or the hint of a smile on her lips. It was true that something between them had changed, and it was for the better. Turning her head to the side, letting her black hair cascade down her shoulder Adonia gently asked, "Am I still your captive?"

"Captive is a harsh word," Achilles said, smiling, "you're my guest."

"In Troy guests are allowed to leave whenever they want," Adonia said playfully as she watched him continue to work, she loved seeing how his features brightened when he smiled, how something in his eyes changed when he looked at her. She'd never experienced anything like this before, but she had seen it between Andromache and her brother, and it gladdened her heart that Hektor had been right; the fates would give her love when the time came. It was strange how she had found it, though.

"Strange custom," Achilles said as he stood before Adonia and lifted her hands, examining them, "You've never worked the fields. Never chopped wood, never carried a milk pail. These are the hands of royalty," he said as he lightly placed her hands back on her thighs before lifting his own for her to see, "My hands are gates to the underworld. All my life I've walked with Death. But I grow tired of his company. Come with me to Larissa." He kissed her lightly then, their lips meeting for a brief moment, before he pulled away to look into her eyes. "Come with me."

"Larissa. Is that where you're from? It's a pretty name." She was trying to avoid the subject, although it was a bridge she would have to face soon enough. If she left Troy she would leave all that she knew, but if she stayed she would lose something she had waited so long for, and she wasn't ready to give either one up. Troy was her life, it was her home, and if she agreed to leave him there would be no chance for her to say goodbye.

"I thought I'd never see it again. Before I left home my mother told me my fate."

"She speaks with the gods?" Adonia asked, her tone sincere, her eyes wide with marvel.

"She knows things. She told me if I stayed home I'd have a long, peaceful life. And if I came to Troy, life would be short... but my name would never be forgotten."

"And you chose Troy," Adonia said, crestfallen as she looked down at her hands.

"But what if Fate brought me here for another purpose? What if I had to go to war to find peace? To find you?" Achilles said as he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face lightly, looking into her fierce, defiant ice blue eyes. He could get lost in those eyes. She smiled then and cupped his face in her hands and brought him closer, their kiss was deep and tender, but Adonia broke away and shook her head.

"I just need time to think," she answered to Achilles' worried gaze, and so she walked forth from the ship and stood upon the deck, looking out at Troy and then turning to look out over the rolling seas. Sighing she turned back to look at her home, so small in the distance, but on the hill she could see Patroclus, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. _How can I help you?_ Adonia wondered. There had to be a way to keep him from the horror she had seen. She would not allow her dreams to become reality, whether by the gods will or not she would find a way to save them all.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For the remainder of the day Adonia sat in the shade of Achilles' tent and pondered the predicament at hand. With her chin resting on her palms, she propped her elbows up on her knees and watched the beast that was the Greek army as it lumbered around on its daily routine. She felt sick with worry and antagonized by fear. No matter how hard she went over the scenario in her head, she was unable come up with a suitable way to stop Patroclus. _Why have you doomed them you stupid boy?_ Adonia wondered and she looked up into the bright, cloudless sky. In years past, on days like this, she would have enjoyed the warmth of the sun, but today she couldn't feel its gentle rays.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she was oblivious to the fact that Patroclus had seated himself beside her. Finally, she turned her blue eyes to meet his, already knowing what she would see. Patroclus seemed irritated, annoyed, and frustrated and who was to blame him? The kid wanted to fight, to waste his life on the battlefield and call it glory. She sighed and shook her head slightly, her ebony locks dancing in the light sea breeze.

"You must be happy we're leaving," he said, and the malice in his voice cut through her like a dagger. "If he hadn't met you this war would already be over."

"If Paris hadn't been a fool this war would have never happened," Adonia snapped, too tired to fight him. He was determined to provoke her, just to get out his anger. "You would blame me when it's your cousin's choice to leave? For glory in battle you would forfeit your life and thus let two of history's greatest heroes fall and see my home burned to the ground. All for the sake of glory and honor." She was exhausted, and her ominous tone seemed to surprise the young warrior, she may not have been looking at him, but she saw his reaction. No longer wishing to take part in his company, Adonia stood, brushed the sand from her robe and limped into Achilles' tent.

It had been nearly two weeks since she had been captured by the Greeks, but it seemed like a lifetime since she'd last felt her brother's embrace or heard his strong, reassuring voice. It felt like ages since she'd walked the familiar halls of the palace or sat amongst the flowers in the high walled gardens. Her heart ached for her home and her brother, all things that were so familiar and comforting and now so alien to her. Adonia had lost all sense of time, ruminating on the days of her youth, on her days of innocence that now seemed so far away. She was sitting in Achilles' tent; the day's light fading rapidly, when the sensation of pain brought her back to reality. Absently she rubbed her swollen ankle gently, and winced as the pain, like burning hot fire, raced up her leg. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to draw the attention of the men outside, but she exhaled sharply from the stringing at the exact moment Achilles entered the tent, his eyes instantly filling with worry.

"How bad is it?" He asked as he moved to her side. She winced as his cool hands closed around her puffy ankle, the pain becoming increasingly worse as time passed. His hands moved across her hot skin, their coolness beginning to dull the pain, but from time to time Adonia would whimper or wince as the sore and tender muscles flinched.

"Bearable," she muttered as he continued to work the muscle, loosening it, and as time bore on the pain began to become an after thought, and as the pain began to ebb away Adonia watched the worry begin to disappear from his eyes, watching it be replaced with something new. Adonia shared the look in his eyes, the dark look that Eros had invented to torment women and men, as well as the longing of his soul.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" He asked gently as he began to slide his and up her calves, gently messaging the muscle, and as his hands moved higher, her stomach began to flutter, and she closed her eyes and he pulled himself up beside her on the bed. Their lips met with a shared fire, she moved her hands to rest on his strong, bare chest, while his cool hands began to remove her robe with deft efficiency.

-------------------------------------------------

That night, in the quite dark of the tent, her dreams were the same as before, lost in turmoil and death. She was stuck between the battles of her brother and her friend, between the inevitable victory that would lead to her country's downfall. Then, suddenly, a new vision came to her it was but a whisper, a shadow of a doubt that lingered in the back of her mind. But, before she would allow it to overcome her, her blue eyes snapped open and she tried to calm the panic rising in her chest.

After a long moment, she realized she was alone in the tent, and the thought was unsettling. Sitting up, she pulled the bed cloth up over her chest, Adonia tilted her head slightly and listened carefully to the events carrying on outside. She could hear arrows flying through the air, the sound of fire thudding into the sand, and her breath caught, were they really using _that_ weapon? The Trojans, her country men, were going to use whicker balls, coated in pitch, and lit on fire to destroy the Greek camp! Quickly donning her robe, Adonia carefully snuck out the front of the tent, preparing to move away should one of the war baskets strike the tent.

She watched a two dozen of the newly developing fire balls rolled into the camp, lighting any soldier, tent or ship that got in its. The alarm began to rise from the camp on the beach, the mass of the Greek army swarmed about, hastily arming themselves to defend their camp. She watched as men tried to stop the flames that were burning the ships to cinders, if they survived they would need them to return across the Great Green. Turning her eyes away from the beach and up to the dunes, they widened as she saw the Apollonian Guard, Hektor's elite Calvary unit, cresting the rise to look down on the smoking Greek encampment. Adonia watched silently as the force continued to march toward the beach. In the background she could hear the distinct movement of the foot soldiers, all 25,000 in her brother's army, she guessed. Would her father really be stupid enough to send the _entire_ force to face them at the beach?

Quietly she crept forward, closer to the looming battleground, and watched from her hiding place behind a smoldering crate as the Greek force began to gather behind the trenches they'd dug after they'd captured the beach, reversing the Trojan's hastily created defenses to suit their own need. From the gossip she had heard from Eudorus and Patroclus she knew the Greeks had been crushed in their previous bought, and now the Trojans were back. Agamemnon was truly a fool if he'd thought he could take the city by force; no enemy had breached their walls in centuries. Then again, no enemy had ever been as strong as the Greeks. She listened as the familiar sounds of bowstrings being tightening reached her straining ears. It was both loud and soft, indicating that archers on both sides were preparing for the battle. Taking a deep breath Adonia began to head back to the tent when she heard a cry come up from the Greeks, and it was not one of negativity.

Turning, she looked in the direction of the chanting and could see the glittering figure in armor that every Greek knew; only Adonia felt a sickness rise in her stomach. They believed that golden figure was their god of war, when in fact it was his younger cousin, doomed to bring the downfall of heroes by his selfish actions. All down the line the cheer was becoming a roar, the men believing that Achilles had arrived. Her ice blue eyes flicked to the dunes, and Hektor, unaware of this new energy, raised his sword and signaled the charge. _All for the better_, she thought, _don't let them doubt themselves. _ A volley of arrows let fly from both sides, a cloud of arrows gathering in the sky, a number of men crumbled to the sand with cries of pain.

But now Adonia turned and watched as the glorious bronze figure of 'Achilles' leapt over the trench, sunlight reflecting off his polished armor. Her eyes danced knowingly as she watched him raise his sword to the sky, a great, violent roar rising from the Greek army before him, their moral and broken hearts rising. As he ran toward the Trojans the Greek army jumped from their positions and followed, like a horse straining against a heavy load, finally inspired. She watched as the two armies collided, and what an ugly sight it was; men slamming into shields and spears, they bones and bodies breaking, they dying cries filling the air. If this was glory, it was a sad thing to behold. And unlike the grassy field before the Trojan gates the men had fought on previously, the field they fought upon this morning was sand, soft and yielding to the heavy weight of the warriors. Both horse and man struggled for footing, and as the battle waged on, the soft yellow and white sand was dyed with the crimson of dying men. Sickness filled Adonia, and the sight of so much death and bloodshed proved too much for the Princess.

But much more was different than the terrain on this day. The Myrmidons were at the forefront, battling with a ferocity most Trojans have never seen before, their brutality and efficiency forced an understanding into Adonia that she had denied for the past weeks. These men were soldiers, they lived for war and bloodshed, and they were the reason so many people suffered. A Trojan officer, his spear raised, galloped toward the figure of 'Achilles', his powerful horse perfectly balanced on the sandy surface. But, before the Trojan could throw what would have been a perfect shot, Adonia watched Eudorus hurls his own spear, catching the officer in the neck, just above his breastplate and below the base of his helm. She looked elsewhere as the man fell to the ground. She knew he would never stand again.

She watched as a Trojan swung his sword at the shining warrior, narrowly missing a clean decapitation. The Greek hero thrust his spear with hellish force, gutting the Trojan, red splashing upon the sand. Quietly she observed as the Myrmidons surged forward, hacking their way through the Trojan force, a heaviness beginning to weigh on her heart as she watched her countrymen fall at the hands of the many friends she had made in past week. The Greek army was steadily beginning to push the Trojans back, picking up more and more momentum as they went, their strength fueled by every kill 'Achilles' and his men made. Now it was the Trojans who seem frightened, unsure where the Greeks found this intense spirit. Glaucus, the Trojan general, on horseback, shouted to Hektor, but Adonia was too far from the battle to hear what the old general called, and quietly she prayed that Zeus would keep him safe.

Once again her eyes found the brilliant figure that was her brother, Hektor, immersed in combat. The Myrmidons were getting closer to the elite Apollonians, and Adonia bit back a shout to warn her brother, even though it would have been useless. But, he'd noticed their nearness long before she had; Hektor would not fail this day. His eyes had caught sight of the beautiful armor of their leader, and watched as he nimbly hopped from the path of a charging Trojan and cut the man down with a single stroke. It was in a way, brutally beautiful.

Adonia watched as Hektor went after him, and her heart began to hammer inside her chest. He guided his horse toward the Myrmidons, the creature slipping and faltering in the soft, blood-slick sand. His Apollonians, clustered about him protectively, moved in that direction as well, determined to protect their lord. She watched with horror as the two elite forces clashed. She'd known many of the men Hektor had served with, and she wondered who would journey down the dark road this night, never to see home again. But, these men were experts, wielding their spears and swords with superior skill. She watched in quiet dismay as Hektor's horse stumbled in the deep sand, and the animal fell to its knees, unable to navigate the terrain any longer. Hektor abandoned his mount, easily leaping down to the beach, running for the shining warrior. A Myrmidon intercepted him, but their battle was quick, Hektor killed him with a single thrust of his sword. Now he was face to face with the figure of glorious 'Achilles'. She watched as the two men, breathing heavily from the combat, stood still for a moment before they began to circle each other. Her eyes examined the intricately-worked bronze of Achilles' helmet, breastplate, and shield as they all shone brightly, and she noticed how Patroclus spun the hilt of the sword in his hand, no doubt nervous and eager at the same moment. _Stupid man, _she watched as he charged, sword raised.

They fought, and Adonia found it hard to watch her brother battling Achilles' imposter. Suddenly, she realized that this scene before her was the one in her dream, and that the war was lost if Hektor was allowed to slay Patroclus, even though he deserved it for his stupidity. And though the battle continued all around them, everyone seemed to be aware of the duel taking place, a crowd forming around the fighting men. The shining warrior was quicker than Hektor and lighter on his feet, swinging again and again, a blaze of bronze in the early morning, quick to strike. He was wasting energy, making so many worthless strikes, but that was all part of her brother's strategy. She knew her brother's style; Hektor fought patiently, parrying the blows, draining his opponent's strength, waiting for an opening, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, to end the battle as effortlessly as possible. The sword of Achilles whistled over Hektor's head, swung so hard that the man wielding it could not protect himself.

"No!" Adonia cried as she rushed forward, grabbing the bow of a nearby fallen archer. Instinctively she notched an arrow, drew the string with all her might and let fly, the shaft cutting into the flesh on her wrist as it whistled away. She watched as her shot held true to its course and hammered into the opportunistic sword of Hektor. The momentum of the arrow countered and neutralized the momentum of Hektor's sword, brining it to a standstill with the sound of metal colliding with metal. Off balance, the bronze figure fell to the sand, uninjured, but shocked at having been seconds from death. Bewildered, the Trojan hero turned swiftly to face the interfering archer, only to find his abducted sister.

**II**

"Adonia?" He said in disbelief as he gazed upon his sister, her bow half raised. Her black hair hung free and danced in the wind, black strands hid most of her face but he could see the bruises and cuts that marred her beautiful features. The robe she wore was far too big for her, and Hektor felt enraged, knowing what happened to women who were captive's of war. He had wanted to believe that she would be safe, that nothing would happen to her, but he'd been foolish to have such hope. He gazed down at the bronze figure in the sand, and felt the anger rise in him as he shifted his grip on his sword, regaining the use of it, and prepared to lunge it into the man's chest.

"Don't!" He heard Adonia call, and he turned to look at her once again. Why was she defending this Greek? A killer who would slaughter so many of their people if he wasn't cut down? His men had already caused a devastating amount of damage to the Trojan force, and had lifted the moral of Agamemnon's army, something he'd warned his father of. "He's not Achilles," he heard her say, her voice a mixture of desperation and exhaustion. Confused, he used the tip of his sword to remove the helmet from the head of the bronze figure, and heard the collective gasp of the Greek force.

"It's his cousin," she began to say as she walked toward him before suddenly crying out. Hektor swung to see one of the Greek soldiers standing by her side, his sword dripping red. Sudden realization struck Hektor as he saw Adonia grab at her side, red spilling out of the long slash along her side as the enraged warrior withdrew his blade. There was a large, black burn on the side of her attacker's neck. With a roar of anger Hektor surged forward and with a single slice disconnected the man's head from his shoulders. He knelt beside his sister, worry filling his clear eyes as he forgot the battle that had suddenly come to a standstill around them.

"How bad is it? Please little sister, speak," he pleaded, the desperation and fear making his voice crack. He heard the Greeks begin to murmur, and marveled momentarily at his sister. In all his days with her he'd never known how clever she could be, and after spending nearly two weeks with these murderers, plunderers, and rapists she'd been able to hide her identity, they were clueless to how important she was up until this very moment.

"It's just a cut, I'll be fine," he heard her say between gritted teeth. He examined the wound hastily, but couldn't tell how deep it was. He could only hope that it had caused no serious harm. He snapped his head up and looked at the nearest king, which happened to be Odysseus.

"Enough for one day?"

"Yes," Odysseus nodded as he called for the mass of the Greek army to return to the beach. Hektor heard Glaucus call the same command to his own army. Hektor watched as Odysseus sheathed his sword and approached the Trojan princess, who was now sitting barely upright in the sand, a grave look upon his face. "More to add to the tale," he said before turning and leading his men back to the beach. Hektor narrowed his eyes at the Greek king, wondering what it was he was talking about. He saw Adonia smile slightly and shake her head, the corners of her mouth turning up in amusement before she winced at the pain caused by her injury. Surprised, he watched as she heaved herself to her feet, and took two shaky steps toward the bronze warrior still on his back in the sand. She seemed different, and his heart ached for her, his very soul cried, wondering the torment she had undergone these last two weeks as a prisoner of war, the captive of beastly men.

He motioned one of his men forward to stand and protect her, and support her if need be. With him, the soldier took a large bolt of cloth that Adonia took and held at her side to try and stop the bleeding. Hektor's greatest concern now was getting her back to the city to see a surgeon. He didn't like the amount of blood she was losing, and liked it even less that she was refusing the leave until she spoke with the bronze warrior.

**III**

"Did I not tell you?" She said between slight gasps of pain as she stood above Patroclus, looking down coldly at the foolish boy. He was now sitting in the sand, having lifted himself from his back. "You would die for glory, and your death would walk hand in hand with the doom of my country," Shaking her head Adonia began to turn away and had to be supported by a nearby soldier.

"Wait!" Patroclus said as he heaved himself to his feet, "I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing," She said as she looked over her shoulder at him, "soldiers live and die for war, you yourself said that, you were prepared to face the consequences of challenging my brother, but I was not ready to watch you throw your life away. Now, instead of facing the judges you will face your cousin; try and explain to him your stupidity, and explain why I won't be coming back. I thought you were different from them Patroclus, but in the end, you're just another blood thirsty fool."

She saw the affect her words had on him; they were sharper than any dagger and held more poison than a viper's fang. She turned before he could say another word and trudged warily through the blood stained sand to meet her brother. One of the Apollonians nearby had dismounted and offered his horse to Hektor. Carefully he lifted her onto the animal's back before hastily mounting behind her. He wrapped an arm around her protectively before he nudged his heels into the horse's side, coaxing it toward the city in the distance.

For a moment she closed her eyes and bid a silent farewell to her friends, knowing that she would most likely never see any of them ever again. The very thought made her heart ache, to save Patroclus and hopefully her brother, she'd have to give up Aphrodite's gift. She'd given up the warlord who would have died for her, she'd given up the one thing she'd lacked her entire life: love. Suddenly she felt very afraid, afraid of what would happen to her home and her people should the war continue. She tried to contain her fear and concentrated on the animal beneath her.

Horses were such wondrous things, without worry or care, sometimes free and sometimes partners in work or war. They didn't care about politics, or the rules of society. They were free to love and trust whomever they pleased, recklessly abandoning all trends of order. Why couldn't she be like them? Why couldn't she be free to do as she pleased? The thoughts only brought back the sadness she'd tried so hard to deter. She was a princess of Troy, and therefore, she was forced to abide by the standards of society. Doomed to be whatever the trends of Kings wanted her to, a slave to her kingdom and its many traditions.

Each step of the wondrous animal jarred her side, pain ripping through her side. It hurt worse than any other wound she had ever had in her entire life, but the constant motion of the running animal below her and the strong arm around her along with the constant pain sent Adonia into a blissful blackness. She was grateful for the sweet relief of oblivion; it was only a scratch, right?

**IV**

Eudorus walked with the Myrmidons back to camp, leaving Patroclus on the dune with the Trojan royals, his shield and spear in one hand, his helm tucked under his other arm, leaving his hand free to rest on the hilt of his sword. He knew Achilles wouldn't be happy, and there were many reasons. They'd been tricked into disobeying his order to stand down by believing that Patroclus was their commander finally deciding to battle the Trojans. It had been a glorious moment of realization for the men, finally they were being allowed to do what they'd sailed the Aegean to do, but it had really just been a cruel trick of the fates. If it hadn't been for Adonia, the incredibly brave girl she was, interfering Patroclus would be dead now, his blood wetting the sand. But, in exchange for saving his life she'd had to return to Troy. Perhaps it hadn't been such a great loss for her, but Eudorus had rather enjoyed the girl's company. She was bright and intelligent, but it had indeed been a shock to find out she was a daughter of Priam, a sister to the hero Hektor. For all her royal blood there wasn't a trace of it within in her demeanor.

Wearily, the man approached the large ship of his leader. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Eudorus called out, "Achilles!" He waited for several moments, wondering if Achilles had even heard him, but before he could call a second time Achilles emerged from the ship's cabin and walked to the bow, he seemed in good humor - until he looked down upon his men. His expression darkened as he descended down the gangplank to the soft, white sand of the beach. Eudorus bowed respectfully, though he shook slightly under the furry of Achilles' gaze.

"You've been fighting," Achilles said darkly as he took in the sight of his captain. The men were sweaty, covered in dirt and caked with blood.

"My lord," he began to say when Achilles lifted a hand to silence the captain, the anger in the set of his jaw and the rage in his eyes were enough to make any man snap his jaw shut.

"You violated my command."

"No my lord, there was a mistake," Eudorus said, coming as close as he ever had to pleading.

"A mistake?" Achilles scoffed, "I ordered the Myrmidons to stand down. You led them into combat!"

"We thought you did," Eudorus noticed the sudden change in his commander, somehow he could tell something was different, that something was wrong. All the men who were returning from the battle would not look at Achilles, their attitudes were a huge give away.

"Where's Patroclus?"

"We thought it was you, my lord. We – he wore your armor. Your shield, your greaves, your helmet, he looked like you, he even moved like you. We all followed," Eudorus said, he stuttered once or twice, his nerves beginning to break under the accusing gaze of his leader.

"Where is he?" Achilles stressed each word as he spoke; the fear was concealed by his anger and the hurt of betrayal.

"He fought well, my lord; with great courage, but Hektor came after him," Eudorus was stalling for time, hoping the boy would come down from the dunes soon and save him from Achilles' impending rage.

"Where?" The danger in his voice was enough to make Eudorus drop the charade and let the truth be known.

"On the dunes, my lord. If I'd known, I would have saved him, but I didn't know," his voice broke and he stuttered several more times, he couldn't look at those accusing eyes, they would burn holes though his very soul.

"Hektor killed him?" Now the anger faltered in sorrow, but the rage kicked in again as Achilles clenched his fist, preparing to strike.

"No my lord! The girl saved him; she shot far better than any archer I have ever seen. It was an impossible shot, a shot strong enough to stop the killing strike of Hektor. She saved his life." At that moment Patroclus came skulking into the camp, he froze suddenly as Achilles' angry gaze turned on the boy. His blue eyes blazed furiously as he saw his younger cousin in his armor, but a sudden change over him.

"Where is she?"

"With Hektor, returning to Troy," Patroclus said, he blinked several times in shock, clearly he hadn't expected his cousin's rage to be so great, "one of Agamemnon's men wounded her."

"How bad is it?" All anger seeming to disappear for a moment, worry and fear overwhelming the invincible warrior. It was hard for Eudorus to see the sudden weakness in his commander.

"We don't know my lord," Eudorus said quietly.

"You are indeed the luckiest fool that ever lived," Achilles said bitterly to Patroclus as he turned and walked to the shoreline, the sudden anguish bright in his eyes. None of the men were stupid enough to follow him, none of the men wanted to see mighty Achilles weakened by the words that had just been said. Eudorus suddenly felt foolish for not having guessed his commander's feelings for the girl, and he realized how just Achilles' fear were.

How badly was she hurt?


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I promise seven will be even better. :D

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Mighty Achilles skulked within the lonely confines of his tent, his eyes dead and empty as whispers of her voice mocked his sorrow, and glimpses of her smile taunted his memory. In a single morning he had lost hold of the one thing that had given him closure, the one person that had given him peace in this wretched lifetime of war. He knew that she was lost, but it was a truth he couldn't come to accept. All his life he had never needed anybody, he had never counted on anyone, and now he found himself trapped by this stupid thing called love. If he left here, she would be lost to him, but if he stayed and fought, he would be lost to her.

There was no way to breech Troy's walls, there was no hidden path into the city, there was no way in. The thought gave him little closure, for if there was no way in, there was no way. If by some odd turn of fate Agamemnon was able to invade the city, she would be trapped. She would be at the mercy of the soldiers, and that was perhaps the worst fate she could suffer now. She would not die, no; Agamemnon would keep her as a kind of pet. No doubt he was furious with the fact that he had not known who she truly was. He would keep her just to spite Achilles, just to make him suffer.

_Leave her be, she is safe,_ his mind whispered, the poisonous thoughts leaking through his defenses. Scowling, Achilles hurled his wine goblet at the fire. Sputtering and hissing angrily, the coals died, leaving a sickly orange glow on the walls before dimming into darkness; leaving Achilles alone with his torturous mind.

**II**

For the past two nights nightmares of loss, anguish, despair and fear had ravaged the sleep of the Prince of Troy. The horror and reality of the situation at hand were the source of Hektor's lack of sleep. For the past three days he'd been forced to watch his sister's suffering. What was worse is that the physicians said there was little chance of her fighting off the fever and infection that had set in. Her wound had been far worse than either Adonia or himself had guessed.

The blade had gone deep, and praise was due to the gods, for no vital organs had been punctured, but she was indeed dying. The physicians had done their best to stop the internal bleeding, but they weren't confident if they were successful. Hektor had sat at her bedside for days; he'd spoken quietly to her as day faded to night, encouraging her to pull though. He would watch her eyes move behind closed eyelids, he would listen as she whispered words that made no sense, and in the end, he could no longer bare to watch her.

Restlessly he prowled the palace and stood on the great wall, watching the far beach, wondering when the Greeks would act next. Then, the questions would consume him as he stood alone on the massive wall. He wondered what had happened to her while she'd been a prisoner; she had few injuries other than the cuts and bruises, so she had not been tortured. She had been defiant and strong that day on the beach, so they had not broken her spirit. But, what had she been through? What would have driven her to save the life of a Greek who would kill her own people if he was given the chance? The biggest question, however, was how did she keep her identity a secret? For two weeks she had hidden her heritage from them, then again, two weeks of secrecy was destroyed by a single sword stroke. Sighing, Hektor fought back the sadness.

Since they were little Hektor had vowed to protect his youngest sister. He had loved her more than all the others from the time of her birth. She had been so quite, so small, so innocent and so fragile. Now, fragile little Adonia was breaking, and there was no way for him to mend her. No matter what the physicians tried they still said that she would not last past the fourth day, and the thought of losing his beloved baby sister broke his heart.

A strong sea breeze whipped against the battlements, flinging sand from the walls and threatening to knock over anyone who wasn't prepared. Hektor, caught off guard, braced against the wind. He felt the tear fall from his eye and left a single spot on the dusty wall before he could stop it. His grief for his sister was far greater than anyone would know, and to have to face losing her was perhaps one of the biggest challenges Hektor would face in his life. But he could not let it destroy him. He would have to be strong; he would have to show that it did not shake him. If any of his warriors saw him like this their moral would be shaken. Adonia was dying, but there was still a war to fight.

How could the gods be so cruel? To return something you cherish only to take it away? Hektor took in a shaking breath and regained his composure. If she did indeed die, he would tear apart every Greek until there was nothing left, especially that stupid boy who'd masqueraded as Achilles. That fool was the cause of Adonia's injury, and he would pay the price if Adonia died.

Filled with a new resolve, Hektor balled his fist and slammed it down on the battlement. In that very moment he made a pact with the gods, that if Adonia died he would avenge her against every Greek that had dared to step foot onto his beach. If she died he would cut the throats of every last one of the Greek kings, and then he would personally kill Achilles and his worthless cousin.

That was the price the Greeks would pay for stealing his Adonia away from him forever.

**III**

_Troy was burning. Smoke filled the air and masked everything within an arm's reach, an unbreakable haze that burned the eyes and throat. Suddenly, the smoke cleared, and there in the grass she looked down at her own body. The city around her was nothing but a burning ruin, the fires raging around the quiet little patch of grass that stood before the great statue of Apollo. Screams of anguish, terror and pain were like distant echoes, their sound hardly reaching this remote part of the palace. It felt quite odd, to be looking down at her own body and not know what had happened. Then, a sharp pain suddenly dragged through her as she saw the thin, eagle tipped shaft that had stuck just below her heart, and then she knew. The feeling that raged through her was a fury she had never felt before, but slowly, it all began to fade. The rage, the pain, all began to melt into the sweetness of everlasting night. Of this event she knew the outcome._

Feverish eyes fluttered open. The dream had not been like many of her others, because this she accepted. It seemed right, to save three lives there had to be something in exchange, and obviously Hades still had a purpose for her. Why else would she still be breathing? She'd expected to take in the burning ruins of her city, but instead, they saw the faint outlines of a room she had not seen in weeks. A room she had longed to be in the day after her capture, the room she would have given anything to escape to a few short weeks ago, but now, she only wished that the circumstances of her return were far different than these.

Struggling through waves of pain, she heaved herself to a sitting position and took in her small apartment. Everything was how it had always been, neat and orderly, just as she had left it the day before her capture. A muscle spasm ripped through her side and Adonia bit her lip to keep from crying out as she ran her hand along the stained bandages. The memory of the battle on the beach, of stupid Patroclus, flooded back. She'd saved his life, but had taken a sword in the side as thanks. Slowly, she shifted her weight, until she could kick her feet over the edge of the bed. Slowly, for the pain was beginning to make her sight swim, Adonia stood. She gripped onto a bed post for support as she took deep breaths to steady her stomach, she suddenly felt ill, before she attempted to make her way across the room. Clumsily she pulled a tunic over her head, wincing as she moved her left arm.

She struggled sluggishly to the door of her balcony, and just as she reached it, she heard a small gasp from behind her.

"My lady!" A small servant girl cried, "You should not be up!"

"I should not be many things," Adonia said quietly as she ignored the panicking girl and leaned against the balcony railing, more for support than any other reason. Her eyes gazed out toward the beach, and she wondered dimly if Achilles had left after all. In this matter her heart was torn many ways. She wanted him to leave this place, to return to Larissa and move on with his life, to give up war altogether. But, on the other hand she wanted him to stay, she wanted him with her. Even now she wished his arms were around her, she wished he was whispering soft promises into her ear as they lay together in the quite calm of night. She didn't know how long she was standing on the balcony before she heard rough footsteps outside her door and heard the wood protest as it was suddenly yanked open.

Absently she recognized that two people had entered the room, and she turned with great effort to face them. Her fevered eyes took in her father; old, gray haired Priam wore the same expression he always had on when he looked at her. It was a stern, harsh look that always made her feel like he disapproved of her. The other was Hektor. She couldn't read the mixed emotions in his eyes, but she knew they weren't good. Still, she felt the sharp yearning to run and jump into her brother's arms, but she wasn't a child anymore, and she'd learned that he wouldn't always be there to protect her.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Priam scolded, his rough scratchy voice was quite unwelcomed, but Adonia didn't give any indication she'd heard what her father had said. Her eyes were trained on her brother, the only other person who truly mattered to her, other than Achilles. He looked so tired, and in a flickering instant she wondered if Achilles looked this tired. If he appeared as though he had not slept in days, but the thoughts drifted away, for she had not the strength to hold them still.

"He is right," Hektor said softly, "the physician ordered that you stay in bed."

"The physician also said I had almost no chance to survive, did he not? He said I wouldn't last another night. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have no intention of dying just yet," the words were hard to form, and even harder to say. She felt so weak and pathetic. Her strength drained, Adonia fought collapsing, but couldn't help it. Her legs gave out, and the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes to the sweet relief of darkness was Hektor, rushing forward to catch her.

**IV**

Carefully, Hektor carried his sister to her bed and gently set her down. Her defiance had made him smile, but after seeing how weak she truly was, the sight once again broke his heart. He turned to face his father who was looking with disapproval at Adonia's pale face. It cut through Hektor's heart as he looked into his father's eyes and saw nothing. There was no love, no pity, no worry for his youngest child. Without a word, Priam turned and left the room, leaving Hektor to regain his seat near Adonia's bedside, the very one he had abandoned the night before.

Her display of stubbornness had forced his hope to spark. Perhaps she would be well after all; perhaps she would resist the call of the dark road and return to this world. There were so many maybes that Hektor shut his mind to them and simply watched his sister sleep. She seemed a little more peaceful now, as if her injury did not pain her so much. He gently brushed her unruly bangs from her eyes and looked down upon her. The cuts were beginning to heal and the bruises were beginning to fade, but the memory of seeing her on the beach was still as sharp as the day it had happened. She'd seemed so strong on that day, as if the Gods had empowered her with a strength most women would not have.

"What happened to you?" Hektor whispered quietly, it was a question he (and the rest of Troy) was dying to have answered, but it seemed like he'd have to wait even longer for her answer. He gently laid his hand against her brow; her skin was still abnormally warm to the touch, but it was no longer hot. The fever was beginning to pass, whether by her will or the gods, Hektor was satisfied with the fact that she had a chance of surviving this.

Before he could think any more of this positive turn of events, the sharp clanging of the city's alarm rang through the sharp air. With one last, fleeting look at his sister, Hektor rushed from the room to prepare for battle. What were the Greeks planning now?


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Three weeks had passed since Adonia's return to Troy, and they had been three very bloody and violent weeks. The Greeks had begun to change their strategy, and somehow it seemed to be working. Each night after the battles dozens of bodies burned upon the pyres, and each time Hektor rode out of the city Adonia felt that familiar fear that he might not never back. It was the reason why each night she shut her eyes and prayed to the gods to keep him safe; him and Achilles.

Although she was rapidly regaining her strength, Adonia did not venture far into the public's sight. She somehow felt hollow, a sort of emptiness that lingered in every dark space of her being that she couldn't find a way to explain. It was a need and a longing she could not seem to shake. Adonia felt sick constantly, too. Most food was unappealing, and that which she did eat she had trouble keeping down. Andromache had taken complete charge of Adonia's recovery, forcing her to go on lengthy walks in the gardens, or on walks along the city walls. Although they were at first difficult for her, Adonia found her time with Andromache almost enjoyable, and her strength was returning with each passing day. Every so often Helen would join them, and those walks Adonia found were the most enjoyable. It was, perhaps, the most time she had spent with either of her sisters, and it somehow gladdened her heart, and their time spent together often masked the darkness that loomed outside their sanctuary. But, it seemed that a suspicion was lurking in Andromache's green eyes. Every time Adonia was sick, it seemed like a secret knowing was in those green eyes.

Her recovery was not exactly welcomed by her father, but he tolerated her presence. Her show of stubbornness had gone unpunished, but Adonia knew it would only be a matter of time before the interrogation began. She was surprised, however, that after three weeks he had not done a single thing to learn of her time in the Greek camp. She had thought that he would press her for any information that might be valuable to their cause. It should have been a relief to her, but all it did was fill her days with worry and uncertainty of when he would come for her. Her father was not a stupid man, if he wanted to know what had happened to his youngest daughter he would ask, and he would do everything and anything till the answers were given.

Despite her protests, Adonia was often dragged to the battlements during the waves of attacks by the Greeks. Though it often made her sick, Adonia stood and watched the armies clash. Every time she observed the ongoing struggle she thought of how pathetic it was; a grotesque display of belligerence by a massive nation who was hungry for wealth and power against a desperate nation trying to hold itself together against its greatest enemy. It was a sad display, and Adonia feared the outcome more than anything else. Every time she leaned over the wall to look upon the advancing Greek army, she wondered if she'd see Achilles and his Myrmidons. But, each time she looked, she did not see the black and gold warriors she had come to know. She would sigh with both relief and disappointment. She would mostly train her eyes on Hektor, watching every stroke of his sword, but she often found she couldn't bear to watch it strike the flesh of his opponent.

This day was so like many others, the sun was beating down upon the sand dunes, and was at times so bright Adonia had to shade her eyes. She was watching her brother as usual, before finding this battle bloodier than the others and turning away in disgust. But, as she turned, a movement in the distance caught her eye, and when she turned to look, her heart seemed to stop.

Atop the ruins of the old guard tower that had fallen into disrepair nearly a century before Adonia spied several figures and an odd, familiar feeling rose in the pit of her stomach. She could see that one of them was prowling back and forth like one of father's caged beasts, and Adonia knew exactly who it was. Her heart fluttered and absently she began to move down the battlements towards the figures, her fingers brushing against the rough stone.

"Adonia, where are you going?" She swung around sharply to see Andromache, who had followed after her hastily. Her bright, sky blue robe gave the illusion of water as it twisted in the breeze; her green eyes glimmered in suspicion and worry.

"I thought I saw something," Adonia murmured quietly as she looked over her shoulder at the ruins. The dark figures she'd seen were no longer there, and sighing, she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. It was, perhaps, a figment of her imagination, a sight her heart had wanted to see. "My mind must have been playing tricks on me."

"Don't worry, it's probably just the heat," Andromache said encouragingly as she looped her arm through Adonia's and lead her back to the section of the battlement where her father sat, watching the ongoing battle. Adonia felt a wave of sickness engulf her and she leaned heavily against the nearest wall until her stomach settled.

"Adonia what's the matter?" Andromache asked, worry thick in her voice, that spark igniting in her eyes.

"Nothing, I should probably go back inside, all this sun must be having an effect on me." She gave a shaky smile to her sister and, although she disapproved, Andromache allowed Adonia to return to her apartment. As she walked, her bare feet passing over the smooth stone floors of the elegant palace, Adonia felt as if the city had been abandoned. The streets were empty and silent, void of their usual activity, and it saddened Adonia. All her life she had known Troy as a heart of trade and commerce, as a city full of riches and life, and now, it just seemed deserted, defeated and dead.

As she scaled the stairs to her apartment, the sickness rose in her throat again. She took a moment to steady herself, taking deep breaths. It was more than odd that she felt ill, for not once in her life had Adonia had any kind of sickness. Never had she had a fever, until the blade had gone through her side. The site of the wound was angry and red, but it was almost healed, and the physicians said that it would not bother her. There was only a slim chance of it being the cause of her illness. But, just as suddenly as it had come, the feeling of nausea disappeared, and she was able to enter her apartment.

Tears began to stream from her sapphire eyes, and she did not fight to hold them in any longer. If the sight of the men at the ruin had indeed been a trick of Apollo, then it was a cruel trick indeed! More than anything in the world she wanted to hold Achilles to her and force him never to leave her again. She wished that she could introduce him to her brother; no doubt they would become steady friends. If only things were different! But, all these what-ifs and maybes were beginning to tear Adonia's heart to pieces. To stop from feeling this pain and longing, she would need to feel nothing at all, even if it destroyed who she was in the eyes of all who knew her. It was the only way, and even if it angered Aphrodite, Adonia had to let Achilles go.

A task that was far easier said than done.

**II**

Cassandra was waltzing through the deserted palace, quite content. She couldn't understand why everyone was so upset with all that was happening. There was a reason for it all, and they were just too blind to look past and see it. Smiling to herself, she seemed to dance down the corridor where her younger sister lived. She could hear Adonia's muffled sobs and pitied her sister. If only she knew how important she was in this entire war. Her action had changed the course of history, her brash action had saved more than one life, and she cried?

Cassandra wondered if the other thing was the reason for her sister's sadness. The secret that no one yet knew, no one but Priam's fae daughter. Frowning, her brows scrunching together, Cassandra placed a hand on the wooden door and spoke to it as if she were speaking to her sister: "You shouldn't worry; you'll be a fine mother." She suddenly turned a skipped away, her mind absorbed in all that the spirits had to say.

**III**

The day faded into night, but Adonia couldn't feel the time pass, she just waited for the sounds of normal life to return, but instead of the bustling of servants, she heard the anguished cries of a woman. She was either a wife who had lost a husband, a mother who had lost a son, a daughter who had lost a father, or even lost a brother. Her suspicions rose as she heard the hysterical cries building, growing louder and echoing through the palace themselves, and then the fear set in. Racing from her room, Adonia descended the stairs two at a time, and as she reached the ground level, her heart seemed to shatter.

On a canvas stretcher, bloodied, battered, and broken, lay her beloved brother. She was suddenly overwhelmed by grief as the tears flooded her eyes and made her vision swim, her legs gave way and she collapsed, her head in her hands, her long black hair like a vale around her face. She was shaking uncontrollably as she just stared at the lifeless form that was Hektor.

"Out of the way!" Priam shouted at several servants who had gathered around to witness mighty Hektor defeated, "I SAID MOVE!" She heard the bustling footsteps of many people, and then she heard a sound she would have recognized if he were standing beside her and not engulfed in the pandemonium. It was his voice, Hektor's voice, whispering her name.

Why he would be summoning her and not his wife was a mystery to her, but she crawled carefully across the floor and knelt beside her brother. She tried not to look at his bloodied body as the physicians worked hastily to save his life. She took his hand in hers and gently brushed hair from his eyes. His whispers were strained, his voice cracking and breaking as he tried to speak.

"Shush brother, we will talk when you are well again," she said quietly. Despite the turmoil within her, she was strangely calm. She wanted to be like Andromache, sobbing uncontrollably, but she couldn't. She could never allow one feeling to dominate her soul.

"I may not be as lucky as you," Hektor struggled to say, his breath came in short gasps, and it worried Adonia more than the sight of his blood spilled out across the floor. She had never seen a dying man before, and she could not remember what it was like to be dying.

"You will be," she said softly. "Be strong, mighty Hektor, we will talk when you are healed." Her words were filled with a greater truth than she could have ever mustered before. In her heart she knew that the God's would not take him from her, not after she had fought so hard to keep him safe. Though, if the gods wanted his soul, they would have it. Softly she kissed the back of his hands as the stretcher bearers hurried to take the injured prince into the nearest royal apartments to shield him from prying eyes. Gathering her senses, Adonia hurried to Andromache's side and grasped her shoulders before embracing her tightly.

"Helen," Adonia called out sharply, "help me get her out of here." Petite little Helen nodded, and together the two heaved Andromache to her feet and marched her up the stairs to her private apartment. Andromache's son was already there, Paris holding him tightly, trying to silence his crying. Adonia sat her sister down on the bed and looked into her sorrow filled eyes.

"Sister you need to be strong," when Andromache did not meet her gaze, Adonia shook her, "Andromache! Hektor _will_ get through this; I swear to you, he will live. The time for grief will not come this night, now, your son needs you." Her voice was far harsher than she had intended, but it was the good awakening Andromache needed, because the future Queen of Troy took a deep, shaking breath, stood and took her son from Paris. Helen simply watched Adonia with eyes that could not be read, as did Paris. Andromache would not face the dark haired girl, but when Adonia glimpsed her eyes she saw a burning there that she had never seen before. Was Andromache angry with her? Why in the name of Zeus would Andromache be angry at her? She had done nothing! Adonia turned to leave, feeling unwanted, Paris grabbed her arm and looked as if he were about to question her, but she shook her head and slipped out of the room.

Once in the corridor, however, she fell to the ground, set her head on her knees and hugging herself cried harder than she ever had in her life. How could she be strong when the greatest warrior in the entire world was so weak? Where had she found the calm and the needed harshness to knock reality back into Andromache and convince a dying Hektor that would live? No matter what she had felt moments ago she doubted one thing: she doubted whether her words about Hektor's survival would be real or not.

**IV**

"Their army is leaderless! Now is the time to attack!" Agamemnon cried, nearly spitting as he sat with his war council. He had seen the mighty prince fall and knew that now more than ever was time to attack the city. They would be crippled by the loss of their beloved prince, and in their blind grief, they would be weak and powerless to stop an assault by the mighty force of the Greeks! Their moral had been boosted by the defeat of mighty, powerful, unbeatable Hektor. If they could kill him, there was nothing they couldn't do, and now, seizing Troy didn't seem like such a massive feat after all for Agamemnon's massive machine of war.

"Did you not consider that Hektor may only be injured and not dead?" Odysseus asked, his voice the calm in the storm that was Agamemnon's thirst for power. He had also seen the mighty prince fall, but he had not seen him die, only be struck across the chest. There was a very, very good chance that Hektor was severely wounded and close to death, but still clinging to life. So long as he lived the Trojan army would not give up.

"Even so, their moral is weaker now more than ever, they are like sheep surrounded by wolves. They don't know where to run!" Agamemnon spat back. Even if Hektor was injured, there was no way he could lead an army form a sick bed! It was highly unlikely that the prince would survive the blow, he would die tonight or the next, but he would not live to see his beloved city fall, such a pity.

"Even with Hektor out of the picture, we have no way to breach their walls. They can wait ten years for us to leave," Nestor said as he ran his fingers through his receding white hair. He understood, up to a certain point, that the Trojans were severally vulnerable, but there was still the wall to deal with.

"I will smash their walls to the ground! Even if it costs me forty thousand Greeks, Zeus hear me, I will smash their walls to the ground!" Through all of his fuming, Agamemnon did not notice the exchange of troubled glances between Nestor and Odysseus, because as far as the King of Kings was concerned, this war was now won.

**V**

Sometime later, Odysseus gave up trying to reason with the blood thirsty King of Kings and left his great battle ship. Quietly he walked along the coastline toward his own ships, and as he walked through the sand, he glanced down the beach to where the Myrmidons were camped. Ever since Adonia had returned to Troy no one on the beach had seen much of Achilles, and it worried Odysseus. The girl was not lost to him, and yet he was making no effort to reclaim her, but who was he to judge? Achilles was either skulking, trying to drink away his sorrows, or he was trying to think of a way to take her from within the city, and that was going to be a death wish no matter what way he tried.

Of course, he wasn't the only one trying to find a way into the city. Odysseus needed to find an easy way in or Agamemnon would send every man on this beach to their death before the great stone wall that loomed in the distance. As he reached the Ithacan camp fire, he settled on a log next to one of his soldiers, and accepted a plate of food from another. Absently he noticed the soldier to his right was whittling away with a sharp knife, and he became enthralled in the man's skill with carving stone. The soldier noticed his King's attention and held up the stone figure to reveal a small horse.

"That's quite good," Odysseus said as he admired the man's craftsmanship.

"For my boy back home," the man said proudly, smiling broadly from the praise. An idea suddenly sparked in Odysseus head, and he stared into the fire, picturing the plan in his mind. He smiled as he realized he had just found a way to spare the lives of thousands of the Greeks while ensuring them a way into Troy, and so, heaving himself from the log, he headed back across the beach to Agamemnon's tent to inform the King of Kings of his ingenious scheme.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

By torchlight, Odysseus watched as Greeks stripped planks from the burnt shells of desecrated war ships, he turned his head to see others prying spike out of fortifications. He watched as the men carried the planks and bundles of spikes to an ever growing pile, and through the activity he saw Achilles approaching him from one side of the beach, and Agamemnon coming from the other side. It had been easy to sell his scheme to the King of Kings, an easy way into the city, and easy victory. The only problem was that it would take time, and coaxing Agamemnon to withhold his fighting for even a span of two weeks had been difficult to make happen. But alas, reason had won in the end, and they were finally doing things Odysseus' way.

"Wily Odysseus. You've found a way to make the sheep invite the wolves to dinner," Agamemnon chucked before he continued walking down the beach, shouting orders at men. He was unhappy at how long this plan would take to bring about, but he was happy to know that he would win. Odysseus watched him for a moment before he became aware of the dark figure at his side.

"Agamemnon will kill them all. Men, women, children – all of them. You know that," Achilles said darkly before he turned and started walking toward the water. His temper flaring, Odysseus followed close on his heels. He would not allow his friend to dwell on such thoughts, and the fact that he was being such a child about this was pathetic. This was war! Was Achilles not a warlord?

"I'm the king of Ithaca, not Troy. My loyalty is to Ithaca. If this plan works, the war ends in a night. And my men can sail home to their wives." Achilles simply continued walking; Odysseus was becoming even angrier with his old friend. "It's not Troy you're worried about, is it? It's one Trojan. One Trojan girl." He regretted the words as soon as they were off his tongue, for Achilles spun around and stared him down. It was look so deadly that it almost made Odysseus shiver, but he stood firm, glaring back into the eyes of the once mighty warrior. Love had crippled and blinded him.

"I've always liked you. But if that girl dies because of your plan, you will never sail home to your wife." Achilles words had a finality to them that did make Odysseus shiver. Unable to find words to say, Odysseus watched as Achilles prowled off once again to the confines of his tent. A cold rush went through his blood, and for the first time in a long time, Odysseus actually feared his old friend. He knew Achilles wasn't joking. If the Trojan princess _did_ die, Achilles would make his threat a reality, and King Odysseus would never again see the lands, or the woman, he loved.

**VI**

Achilles walked along the dark beach, ignoring the constant activity that was taking part in the camp beside him. Dark thoughts were moving through the shadows of his mind, and he did his best to avoid focusing on them. There was something he had to do to keep her safe, and the thought of her in Agamemnon's hands was more than he could bear. The amount of horrific and terrible things he could and would put her through made his blood boil. The fat pig of a man would either take her as a slave or leave her bleeding, and those were alternatives that Achilles would never be able to live with.

As he arrived at his encampment the men's already hushed conversations became silent as they all looked at their commander. He knew they were disappointed with him, he knew they'd wanted to fight just like everyone else, but he'd also noted their own sorrow when she had left. She had been something of a reminder to them all of the joys of home. Her bright, inquisitive eyes, her soft laughter and gentle smile had been a reminder of the daughters and wives that waited at home, and it had been hard for them when the bright light she had been was suddenly gone. Achilles nodded to his men and walked over to his tent where Eudorus sat polishing Achilles' armor.

When the lieutenant noticed his commanding officer had returned he jumped to his feet and carefully placed the armor back on the sand. "I hope I never disappoint you again."

"Rouse the men, you are taking them home," Achilles said quietly, his decision finally made.

"Aren't you coming with us?" Eudorus asked, surprised that Achilles would elect to stay behind.

"I have one more battle to fight."

"She's worth fighting for, we'll stand beside you," Eudorus said after a hesitant moment.

"No. All that's left is the slaughter. I don't want to see my men fouled with children's blood," Achilles said shaking his head before gripping his lieutenant's shoulder, "Go Eudorus, this is the last order I give you."

"Fighting for you has been my life's honor," Eudorus said sorrowfully as Achilles turned to walk away. It was a hard goodbye, but one that had to be made. Achilles had told the truth when he had said that he did not want to his men fouled with the blood of children. It was a crime that would prevent them all from a peaceful afterlife, and Achilles would not see that happen. Suddenly, he realized there was one last person he had to say goodbye too, and he found Patroclus sitting on the sand near the water's edge.

"I won't leave," Patroclus said defiantly as Achilles sat beside him. The guilt that had filled Patroclus had been immense. It was his fault that Adonia had been injured and had had to return to Troy. It was his shame that he had pretended to be his cousin just so he could fight. He would make this right, no matter what he had to do.

"Yes, you will." Achilles said finally as he placed a hand on his young cousin's shoulder. There was still so much he did not understand about war or even about life in general. He was naïve and innocent where Achilles was not; and he would do all in his power to help his cousin remain that way.

"I owe her my life, this is the least I can do for her," he argued quietly, looking out at sea. For a moment Achilles was going to refuse, but he knew it was pointless. Patroclus was convinced that this was the only way to repay his debt to Adonia, and who was he to say no? Patroclus didn't want to stay for the fighting: he wanted to stay and help rescue Adonia. There could be no cause more honorable than that.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Twelve days had passed since the broken body of Hektor had been brought into the palace. It had been twelve, long, sleepless nights that the people of Troy had endured uneasily. No news had spread through the city, and so the question on everyone's lips was: is he alive or dead? The soldiers were restless, but even more uneasy were the sentries atop the bell tower. They waited and watched warily, praying blindly that the Greeks would simply give up and leave. Of course, they knew no such luck would befall them now, not with Hektor dying or dead.

Slowly, the sky began to lighten the sky, the beach becoming clear in the distance; too clear. Eagerly, a young sentry hurried to the tower's edge and squinted into the distance, raising a hand to shade his eyes from the brutal assault of the rising sun's light glistening off the morning fog. Another sentry shuffled over to where his companion stood, staring in wide eyed disbelief at the beach.

"They're gone!" The young sentry stammered, completely bewildered by the sudden change in events. The beach was empty, clear of ships, tents, campfires. Every last man in the Greek force was gone.

**II**

Adonia strode restlessly along her balcony, her long black hair finally tied up in braids adorned with golden charms and spiral seashells. The loud clanking of the golden bracelets wrapped around her wrists and ankles reminded her of Andromache's other gifts. The intricately woven golden chains were wrapped around Adonia's bare forearms, and not even the long, weightless sleeves of her ivory hued gown could keep them from her view. Such lavish adornment and choice of color would never have appealed to Adonia herself, but she was powerless to stand up to tradition; a tradition that would soon have her standing before Troy's great council, explaining why she the young, unmarried daughter of the Trojan king was with child.

The phrase filled Adonia with both fear and wonder. Being a mother was not something she understood, nor something she had ever really thought about. Of course, the same thought inspired her in the same way a young horse inspired a child. She was in awe of the changes that her body had already gone through, and she knew from watching Andromache that her body would change even more as the months rolled past. That was, of course, if her father didn't have her silenced. The suspicion in Andromache's eyes had been proven true, and she had been the first to inform her father of her…condition.

Uneasily, Adonia gripped the solid stone railing. She inhaled deeply, the salty scent of the sea a welcome friend in her tortured mind. For nearly a week she had known she was with child, and the others had known as well, and yet Priam did not come for her. She knew it would be soon, she could feel it in her heart. Soon he would come and ask her the questions she did not want to answer. The questions she herself would not dare to think of, for within their answers lay the breaking of her heart, and the shattering of her very soul.

So caught up in her thoughts, Adonia barely noticed the young attendant who stood silently in the doorway. The girl was like a mouse, plain of face with short cropped hair, nothing above average in her height and build. She was a servant, and yet the way she stared made Adonia uncomfortable.

"What do you want?" Adonia said, turning her icy gaze upon the poor girl. She was maybe eleven or twelve, too young to understand the turmoil within Adonia's heart.

"King Priam has called for you, milady. He has asked that you meet him in Hektor's apartment," the girl said in a very quiet, rather meek voice.

"As I have said before, I will not entertain his wishes." Priam was the last person she wanted to see, and with him hanging over Hektor she'd been forced to avoid her beloved brother as well. Of course, the interrogation that was close on the horizon would do nothing but tear her farther and farther away from her family, especially when they found out who the father of her child was. Paris hadn't said a word to her, Helen looked at her accusingly and Andromache had delighted in torturing Adonia by dressing her in lavish cloths and ornaments. Adonia believed that it was Andromache's way of getting back at her for being so…cruel when Hektor's body had first been brought back to the palace.

"He thought you might say that," the girl went on, her voice quivered slightly, "he said that if you did not come at his request that I was to have a guard escort you to his side."

"I knew it would come to this," Adonia sighed before she gathered her skirts and swept past the servant girl. She strode down the hall and scaled the stairs with great ease, her bare feet scraping noiselessly against the stone. As she reached the top of the staircase, she took a moment to compose herself. It had been nearly eight days since she had last seen her brother, and every day he sent for her, at their father's request, and every day she denied his calling. Inhaling deeply, she prepared to face her father. The wooden door swung inward easily at her touch, the hinges making not a sound, as she shut it quickly behind her.

"Adonia!" Andromache cried as she sprung to her feet and wrapped her arms around Adonia's shoulders. Adonia could feel the tension in her hug, and she could read through the false cheerfulness in the woman's eyes. She had been lounging in an armchair near Helen, who smiled lightly up at her. "We were wondering when you'd come!" She held Adonia at arm's length and looked her up and down, a satisfied glow in her bright eyes.

"The color change suits you," Helen said airy, "now you don't seem so pale."

"Yes, and with your hair out of your face we can finally see those beautiful eyes," Andromache said as she took Adonia's cheeks in her palms.

"Where is Hektor?" Adonia asked darkly, emotionlessly, looking without seeing into her sister's eyes. Sighing, Andromache released her hold on Adonia's face and nodded through a doorway covered with a light sheet. It wasn't really like she'd needed to ask, she'd been here enough times to know where her wounded brother would be lying. The question was mainly to remind her sisters why she was here. Stepping lightly out of Andromache's hold, Adonia strode through the doorway, brushing the sheet lightly away as she passed it. For a moment, it was as if she couldn't breathe. Beneath the purple bruises around his cheeks and along his bandaged chest was the perfect Hektor that Adonia had known all her life, and even now, as he slowly moved away from the call of death, he looked strong. It took her a moment to notice her father, however, who sat in a corner; his white robe blending perfectly with the white linen of the window hangings.

"Sister," Hektor breathed weakly, extending his bandaged hand toward her. In a single movement, she approached the bed and took his injured hand in both of hers. His skin was hot to the touch, almost burning. Soothingly she wrapped her cool hands around his own, trying to ease the pain she knew it was causing him.

"So, finally you obey my wishes," Priam growled. He looked extremely weak, as if he had not slept in days. It was so unlike him to appear this way. He appeared as if the last twelve days had aged him another twelve years, and his dark eyes were shrunken and surrounded by dark circles. His face had lost much of its color and he appeared more like an old man than a once great king.

"I needed to be alone, to think," Adonia said icily, never looking at her father. She was solely focused on Hektor, on how one bruise curved into another and how they were slowly fading to a sickly form of yellow as the days passed and the blood began to sink back into his skin.

"You have been alone for too long, little one," Hektor said gently as he turned his gaze upon her. Although most of his body seemed weak, his eyes were still strong. Within their bright blue depths she could see his love for her, the love that an older brother had for his younger sister. If only he knew the horrors that stalked within her heart. Perhaps, if he did know of her tortured thoughts, he would not look upon her with such love.

"Why do you look at me like I'm some kind of monster father?" Adonia said darkly, the anger rising in her blood. She'd seen, out of the corner of her eye, his expression had changed from one of unhappiness to one of anger, hate and disdain.

"Oh no, daughter, you are not the monster," the king said easily, hiding whatever emotion he was feeling. "You were a prisoner of war; such things were not beyond possibility. The men who held you captive are dogs and slaves to their desires. I myself would kill any one of them to return your purity. When the time comes, it will be dealt with."

"You speak as if my child is a monster, as if it is without a soul, without a heart," Adonia said, her voice trembling slightly as she turned to face her father, the anger was so hot in her eyes that they began to tear up.

"It is an abomination! It shall be discarded and this entire situation will go unspoken of. If all goes well I may still be able to find a man willing to take you as his wife," Priam said, folding his hands lightly in his lap as if he were talking about nothing more than the day's weather.

"No. I will not play along with your stupid games," Adonia spat defiantly, pulling her hands from her brother's grip, "I am not some slave you can trade for your own gain, father. I was not raped and tortured as your twisted mind seems to believe father. My child is not a product of being a prisoner of war. I was not a helpless princess attacked by brutal men. My child was formed as the result of love. It is the child of the man who protected me, shielded me from the evils of war. I will not let you take it from me." Fury covered her father's face as Priam flew from his chair. Before she could move he towered over her, his anger seeming to take away the appearance of his fragility. He roughly grabbed her arms and shook her.

"You will do as I say!" He roared.

"No!" She shouted back, her own anger rising to the surface, as she twisted away from Hektor's bedside and snatched her arms from his grip. She edged closer to the door, her eyes burning with hate, "I will not let you murder the child of Achilles." As she spoke her beloved's name she saw the shock and disbelief cross both her father and Hektor's faces. They had never guessed, never dreamed that the warlord of the Greeks had been her protector, her lover. They had believed that she had been thrown to the soldiers. Quickly she strode from the room and dashed from his apartments, not stopping to look at Andromache or Helen, not wanting to see the same looks on their faces. When she finally reached the safe haven of her own rooms she shut the door hastily and locked it, shoving the wooden board into place before she collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down her face.

**III**

Paris rode quietly between his father, Glaucus, Archeptolemus, and Velior as they headed toward the beach to see if what the sentries had said was true. He looked uneasily at his father, who'd seemed both angry and distressed for most of the day. Even Helen had seemed distressed and upset, but when he'd asked her about it she'd refused to say what had happened. He could only guess it concerned Hektor or Adonia. Only those two had the power to upset Priam, and with Hektor steadily recovering, it could only be his youngest sister who caused their father's dark mood. When his young sister had come into Hektor's rooms he had left. There were things he needed to do, and he could not stomach the thought of sitting there and listen to what had happened to his youngest sibling.

The Apollonian Guard followed close behind the Trojan leaders, weary of ambush, protecting the monarchy and the high council members. The sand muffled their footsteps as they dismounted and approached the great wooden structure. It appeared to be in the shape of a horse standing at nearly forty feet in height and was very considerable in width. It stood in the center of the graveyard, what with the beach being covered in the burnt-out shells of dead warships, the abandoned bones of tents, a few stray arrows, the remnants of the camp fires, and corpses. Hundreds of corpses littered the ground, each body covered in large black sores. Prince Paris watched as several guards inspected the bodies, keeping a wary distance.

"Plague," Priam said definitely as he stood near the high priest, Velior, who looked down in disgust at the dead men.

"Don't get too close my king," Glaucus said protectively, a twinge of fear barely audible in his voice. All men fear what they do not know, and not knowing the source of the sores was extremely unsettling to every man on the beach.

"This is the will of the gods," Archeptolemus said quietly.

"They desecrated the temple of Apollo and Apollo desecrated their flesh. The Greeks could fight our swords and arrows, but they can't fight the god's plague," Velior said in a deep, commanding voice, preaching to the men around him. Paris saw Glaucus laugh and shake his head.

"They thought they'd come here and sack our city in a day. And look at them now, fleeing across the Aegean." It was a statement from Glaucus that sent a reassuring wave through the entire Apollonian guard. It was a confirmation to all their silent hopes.

"What is this?" Priam asked as he strode closer to the great wooden horse, his blue eyes wondering curiously up and down the gigantic thing.

"An offering to Poseidon," the High Priest proclaimed, "the Greeks are praying for a safe return home."

"I hope the Sea God spits on their offering and lets them all drown at the bottom of the sea." Glaucus growled as Paris watched his father intently. What would he do about this monstrosity?

"This is a gift. We should bring it to the temple of Poseidon," the High Priest said, and by now, all the men on the beach were staring at the towering horse.

"I think we should burn it," Paris said as he turned to his father. Something in his heart told him that this 'gift' was purely evil, and that if they allowed it into the city, something terrible was going to happen. His heart felt sick looking at the wooden beast, and he always trusted his feelings.

"Burn it? My prince -- it's a gift to the gods!" Archeptolemus cried, offended by Paris' suggestion.

"The prince is right. I'd burn all of Greece if I had a big enough torch," Glaucus jested, clapping a hand onto Paris' shoulder in agreement.

"I warn you, good men. Be careful what you insult. Our beloved prince Hektor had sharp words for the gods and a day later Odysseus' sword cut him down," Velior said ominously, his eyes widening in fear and disbelief at the words he was hearing. How could they dream of disrespecting the gods so strongly?

Paris watched as his father turned from him to face the high priest. Why was he being ignored like this? Priam never would have turned such a blind eye on Hektor, no he would never have ignored his prized son like this. Were his words worth nothing now? Was he only there so that Priam's bloodline would live on? If he was as unimportant as Priam was making him feel, then why was he even here?

"Burn it, father," Paris said again, sharper this time, with more warning in his tone.

"Forgive me, my king. I mean no disrespect. But I don't want to see any more princes of Troy incur the gods' wrath," the High Priest said, hitting the King where it would hurt. He was manipulating Priam to get what he wanted! This was wrong! Priam should do what was right; he should burn the damned thing here and now, with everyone to watch! This thing shouldn't be allowed to enter the city, for if it was, Paris had the distinct feeling that Troy, and all its children, would burn.

"I will not watch another son face death," Priam said absently as he turned back to his horse.

**IV**

From his perch within Odysseus' wooden creation, Patroclus watched the events outside nervously. He was doing his best to stay silent and unnoticeable, as were all the other men, mostly Ithacans, who were taking part in the dark operation. When he shifted his weight slightly, his leg protested, the muscles had cramped from staying taunt for so long, and Patroclus had to fight hard to keep from groaning in pain. He shot a quick glance at his cousin, who had his eyes closed and was deep in thought, before looking over to Odysseus who nodded slightly in encouragement.

He was doing the right thing – that, at least, he knew. This was the only way he could ever repay Adonia, and knowing Agamemnon, he either had blood or vengeance on his mind. Adonia, as well as the rest of the royal family, would be Agamemnon's main concern. They would be the true spoils of this war, as would the gold and sheer prestige of the city itself. Once more Patroclus glanced at his cousin. This time, Achilles' eyes were open, and the cool, calculating look on his face sent a shiver down Patroclus' spine. Tonight would be bloody and the sky would be drenched in red when the sun rose. Achilles the killer was awake.

**V**

Dozens of Trojan soldiers hauled against long ropes in an attempt to pull the massive horse across the grassy plain and into the mother city. Slowly, steadily the soldiers dragged the enormous horse through the gates. The citizens of Troy watched from atop the walls and inside the city proper, ogling at the 'gift' that the Greeks had left behind. The horse was left to stand near the statue of Poseidon wielding his trident, beside his temple on one corner of the city square. It towered over everything within the square, dark and mysterious in the bright city. The square was crowded and jubilant; soldiers and citizens alike celebrated their great victory, drinking wine in the streets, waving torches and Trojan flags, singing songs. Paris and Helen sat silently on the palace stairs, watching the crowd.

______________________________________________________

An abandoned dog loped along the beach, his feet moving soundlessly in the deep sand, he stopped to sniff each Greek corpse, as if looking for someone. Finding one dead man he seemed to recognize, the dog licked the cadaver's face. The so called "sore" on the dead face was licked clean. Cracking open an eye, the 'dead man' lifted a hand to stroke his loyal pet, the sores had been masterful forgeries, applied with squid ink and dried blood. They had done their job.

_______________________________________________________

A Trojan rider on horseback rode south, away from distant Troy, away from his home. It was only supposed to be a normal scouting mission, but what he would find was something the Trojans had not even thought of. He rode toward the Hellespont and was about to turn back, when something caught his eye. He frowned deeply and guided his mount back toward the cliff's edge. By the light of the moon, the young scout saw nearly one thousand Greek warships harbored in the deserted bay. The rider stared at the ships in horror, this truly couldn't be happening.

He spun his mount around and attempted to gallop back to the city when arrows flew from the ships and hammered into the scout's chest.

**VI**

The square was vacant now, empty of all the revelers who'd finally gone home. The great horse stood, ominous in the half light of the waning moon. Then, suddenly, pieces of the wood fell away, toppling to the ground dragging long lines of rope with them. Achilles waited patiently with Patroclus as the ten Ithacans descended to the ground before he took the rope in hand and swung agilely down from his hiding place. Not a sound was made, for the Greek invaders had forgone the formality of the heavy, clanking bronze armor for simple, silent leather protection.

Achilles watched quietly as Odysseus led a team of Ithacans across the square, quite as shadows they crept up on the dozing sentries guarding the main gate. Another team moved silently to the guard tower. Achilles stood still for a moment longer, Patroclus at his side, watching his compatriots set about their deadly mission before he turned in the opposite direction, towards the palace. He was on a different mission. Patroclus was on his heels, moving as Achilles moved, making no unnecessary steps or unnecessary sounds. If they succeeded this night the gods were truly on their side.

**VII**

Odysseus and his men moved like ghosts, killing the guards and sentries quickly, painlessly and without noise. He watched emotionlessly as two of his man sliced the throats of the two men who'd been guarding the gate. He couldn't allow himself to wonder who they were, if they had family or not. Thoughts like that would only slow him down and make this whole mission that much harder. He had to remind himself that he was doing this only to spare his men from being slaughtered mercilessly in open combat. Yes it was underhanded, but in times of great need, it was necessary.

Suddenly, a metal cup clangs down a flight of stone steps, having been dropped from the hands of a dead man. Odysseus turned quickly to see one of the nearest sentries coming to his senses. He wasn't the only one who noticed it either. One of his men quickly stabbed the drowsy man, sending him across the river Styx to the underworld in a single thrust. Another soldier crawled into the tower and sliced the other sentry's throat.

Leaning slightly over the side, Odysseus nodded to his men at the gate, signaling for them to begin opening the massive doors that sealed Troy from the outside world. Silently, the men hauled on the chains, dragging the great reinforced door from their resting places. They groaned lightly in protest, which set many of the men on edge. They were so close to accomplishing this dark deed, so very close.

A torch was thrust into an Ithacan's hand, and frantically he waved it above his head, it was a signal. Somewhere in the distance, a mass of black moved. Like a bear waking form his winter slumber it moved quicker and quicker. It was thousands upon thousands of men sprinting towards Troy as silent as panthers. Like water bursting through a dam, the Greek army crashed through the Gates of Troy with blood and glory and gold on their minds.

Throughout the entire city the Greeks carried out their raid, killing sentries at their posts, setting buildings on fire with torches, opening the stable doors and chasing all the frightened horses into the streets. Soon the city was in chaos. The fires burned out of control, like festering wounds infecting the whole of Troy. Screams began to echo down the alleyways, first just a few, then more and more, until it seemed as if the entire city was screaming in pain.

_______________________________________________________

Priam stood on his balcony, clutching the railing, staring out at his beautiful city as it is burned to the ground. All his life's work was being undone before his very eyes. Tears streamed down his face as he thought of all the long, hard years it had taken to make Troy such a grand place, and now it would be nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash. He could feel the bile rising in his chest as the screams began to echo through his mind, stealing every last shred of sanity the old man had been desperately clutching to. _We're all going to die._

_______________________________________________________

Trojan soldiers staggered to the armory. None of them had been prepared for this, and they mostly appear terrified and bewildered, too afraid to question how their city was infiltrated, too filled with fear to seek the answer. Four soldiers ran to the armory doors and threw them open before being launched backward by an explosion of heat and fire. Screaming in pain, the men rolled on the ground, the fire eating at their skin.

The armory was ablaze, the flames consuming the wooden beams of the ceiling and hungrily feasting upon the rows and rows, racks and racks of wooden spears, bows and arrows. All of Troy's military power was burning to the ground.

Terrified civilians ran blindly through the streets of the upper city, which had yet to be reached by the Greek Army, in their bedclothes. Mother's clutched their children's hands, old women fled through the streets, screaming that the world was ending. The people screamed louder as they saw Achilles and Patroclus dashing towards them, swords drawn, but pillaging was the last thing on their minds.

**VIII**

Adonia ran through the deserted corridors, her lavish robes had been abandoned for one of midnight blue, her black hair fell in waves about her, whipping around in the wind her running caused. Her naked feet made not a sound on the stone streets, and through an archway she saw the white buildings of Troy painted shades of red and orange as they burn. The streets echo with the cities dying screams, reverberating off the wall of panic Adonia's mind was creating.

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Agamemnon stood in the very center of Troy, his head tilted back to look at the night's sky, chocked with the black smog from the roasting blazes. His eyes are filled with delight as he watched the beautiful city that had made a mockery of him and his army burn to the ground. He laughed gleefully as he watched a man cut down a woman running through the streets.

"I promised you brother!" He cried into the night, raising his sword to the heavens, "Burn it all! Burn Troy! Burn it to the ground!"

_______________________________________________________

Paris hastily pulled his breastplate over his shoulder, his hands fumbling on the straps and he quickly pulled them tight. Quickly he looped his quiver over his shoulder before grabbing his bow from its rack. All the while he was preparing for battle, Helen watched, silent and terrified. Andromache entered the room, he son in her arms, her eyes wide with fright. Hektor stood behind her, leaning slightly on a makeshift crutch. Though he was still weak form his close encounter with death, he was not powerless. Much of his old strength had returned, and he could almost walk normally again.

"We must run," Andromache said, her voice cracking from her fight.

"Where?" Helen cried desperately.

"I'll show you," Andromache whispered, fearing her voice would falter again. Hektor placed a steady hand on Andromache's shoulder comforting and reassuring her all in the same moment. Andromache seemed to take charge knowing her husband was beside her, knowing that she wasn't alone in this world. She turned quickly to leave Parris' room, her son fast asleep in her arms.

"Come my love," Helen said softly as she tugged on Paris' arm, trying to pull him towards the door. She was anxious to find this safe route out of the city, she needed so desperately to know that she and Paris could escape here without passing into the underworld. She wasn't ready to lose him yet. Nodding for her to proceed, Paris followed quickly behind his beloved as they fled the chamber.

It wasn't long until Andromache found the vine-covered door and pulled it open. Along the way to this hidden escape, they'd gathered as many women and children as they had seen, and led them here. It was a promise of safety, the dark tunnel beyond the door. Holding out torches, the women began to hurry down the corridor, desperately fleeing the pillaging of their beloved homes. Several men also were part of the flow of people passing through the tunnel, Paris was relieved to know that at least some able bodied men would survive this bloody day.

Helen began to walk toward the doorway, but when Paris did not follow her, she swung around to face him. Her eyes were wide and desperate, pleading for him to come. Paris stood firm as he looked into the eyes of his beloved.

"I stay."

"No," Helen gasped, shaking her head in anguished disbelief and flinging her arms around him.

"Our father will never abandon the city," Hektor said in a harsher tone than may have been necessary, "we will not leave him."

"The city it dead! They're burning it to the ground," Helen nearly shrieked, tears beginning to fall from her eyes. Paris turned his eyes from her to a group of refugees preparing to enter the tunnel. They were timid and weak, distraught and distressed from the recent events, but Paris noticed one who looked braver and stronger than the others. He was a young man, maybe only fourteen, and he supported his elderly father.

"You there, what's your name?" Paris asked, pulling the boy aside.

"Aeneas sir," he said firmly, showing no doubt in the face of the Prince of Troy.

"Do you know how to use a sword?" Paris questioned, and Hektor began to wonder what his younger brother was going on about. They did not have the time to waste here with refugees. The boy nodded to Paris' words, and it was a surprise when Paris unsheathed the blade at his side.

"The sword of Troy," he said steadily, "I wasn't so good with it, but it's a fine sword. As long as it's in a Trojan's hand, our people have a future. Protect them, Aeneas. Find them a new home."

"I will," the boy nodded vigorously before helping his father into the tunnel, his fist wrapped around the hilt of Paris' sword.

"Adonia wasn't in her room," Andromache said as she touched Hektor arm, and she saw the flush of fear that entered his eyes, and it frightened her. Though she had been angry with the girl, she could not deny her own love for the willful, dark haired girl. Hektor loved her, and so Andromache loved her, and to know that she was missing was horrible for the both of them.

"We will find her," Paris said confidently, as if promising them silently that she was fine, and that no harm would come to their youngest sister. Hektor pulled Andromache close with his free arm and hugged her tightly, kissing her deeply for only a moment before pulling away and placing a light kiss on his son's forehead. It was a farewell and a promise all at once. He knew that there was a very strong chance that he may never again see them, and though it frightened him, he would not leave his youngest sister and his father to this fate.

"Go," he said softly, and without questioning Andromache entered the tunnel.

"I'll stay with you," Helen cried, almost pleading, but Paris shook his head, determined. He held her tightly, kissing her strongly before he pushed her gently toward the door. He and Hektor knew how to fight, they knew how to protect themselves, but Helen did not. She was no warrior.

"Go," he said, echoing his brother's words. He hoped that she would be like Andromache and simply obey him, but it was never that simple with Helen.

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me," Helen pleaded, refusing to move from where she stood.

"How could you love me if I ran now?"

"Please," Helen begged, taking hold of his arm, refusing to let him go for fear of losing him.

"We will be together again. In this world or the next, we will be together." With that Paris pushed her through the door and closed it tightly behind her, locking it shut. Hektor could see the pain it caused Paris to push Helen away, but it was necessary now. If he did not force her to go, she never would.

"Let's go," Hektor said as he turned from the door and began hurrying towards the throne room, where he knew their father was most likely to be. Hektor seemed to be stronger now, more resolved. Paris wondered how exactly Hektor intended to fight. He wasn't as strong as he had once been, not by a long shot.


	10. Chapter 9

Note: Section 6 would normally have been split into several sub-sections, but there was not enough in the script to dictate actually doing so. So instead of having one or two lines per sub-section, I simply squeezed a whole bunch together to give it more length and a better look.

PS: Sorry this took so long, but here it is! The final chapter!

* * *

Chapter Nine

I

Adonia ran, her heart hammering in her chest as the horrific screams of the massacre echoed off the walls of the smooth stone walkway she ran along. Such horror would forever scar her, and she found herself screaming as she came across bodies, lying drenched in blood, at the end of the walkway. Panic began to flood her senses. The Greeks had made it within the palace walls; it would only be a matter of time before they found her and her family.

Panic is a strange thing. It can drive one to give up or to endure, it can lead one to brilliance or insanity, and in some extreme cases it can cause one to lose all hope. Hope was the only thing Adonia had to cling onto. It was the only scarp of reality that was keeping her from completely losing her mind. There was no power in the world that could force her to give up such hope other than death.

In her heart she knew that so long as she lived her family and her loved ones would search for her, but the instant she relinquished that hope she was doomed. After all, she had not only herself to live for, but her child as well. So, she ran, knowing she had to find safety.

"Paris!" She screamed, "Andromache!" Suddenly, she stopped mid stride. A pale, riderless, white horse was bolting through the corridor, its eyes thick with panic, its nostrils flared in terror. Quickly, in hopes to dodge the charging horse, Adonia slammed herself against a wall, pressing her body close to the rough, white stone. She sighed in hurried relief as the terrified beast galloped past in a gust of wind and a shower of dirt.

An idea hit Adonia like a blow to the stomach; it was more tradition than rational idea though. She was clinging to the only tangent of belief that the elders would say could save the city. Determined to do as tradition would bid her do; Adonia raced out of the corridor with her eyes sparkling in defiance and determination. Maybe the only thing that could save this city was a miracle. It was a long shot, but she had to try.

II

"ADONIA! ADONIA!" Achilles called as he shoved through the crowds of panicked Trojans. Patroclus was at his side as the two shoved their way through the upper city, Achilles became incredibly frustrated. It was impossible to distinguish faces in this crowd, and she could be anywhere in this city!

"I don't think we'll find her down here," Patroclus called to Achilles over the horrified cries of the people. Achilles knew he would never find Adonia down here, and he hated himself for wasting so much time. He'd been such a fool to think that she would run through the city, into the chaos. Most likely she was still in the palace, and so his mind was made up.

Easily and without strain he and Patroclus scaled the palace wall. It was not an easy feat, the scale such a wall, but they were driven by something much more than riches, and it was that reason that gave them haste. Easily, the intensely trained Greek warriors swung over the top of the wall and landed like cats on solid ground; eyes alert, hands on the hilts of their swords. One of the Apollonian guards spotted the two Greeks as they'd swung over the wall, and his training and duty overrode his intense sense of fear as he charged at the two.

Without any effort, Achilles disarmed the guard and left him, sprawling, flat on his back. Grabbing him by the bronze chest plate he was wearing, Achilles hauled him to his feet, the steel of his sword gleaming against the tender skin of the man's throat. Patroclus stood beside him, looking just as menacing.

"Adonia – where is she?" He asked roughly before nearly shouting, "Where is she?!"

"I don't know... please, I have a son," the man pleased, knowing he was outmatched by these two. He held up his hand, and Achilles dropped him, shoving him away in anger. Not sparing a look back, Achilles set out. He would search the entire palace if he had to. He would tear it apart brick by brick, but he would find her. He would find his Trojan Princess.

"Get him out of Troy," Patroclus said to the Apollonian before he ran after his cousin. His determination to find Adonia may not have been as insane, but he would help his cousin find her in any way.

III

"No one escapes! No one!" Agamemnon shouted at his men as they tore the Trojan forces to pieces. They didn't stand a chance against the power of the Greek armies! Their people might call their deeds heroic, but Agamemnon saw them for what they really were. All this bloodshed could have been avoided if that pompous, proud, and moronic king of theirs had just given up the city when nicely asked. Now he was just going to have to take it by force.

Agamemnon relished in the screams of the women and the children as they met their end. Their deaths were needless, and many of them were being taken prisoner, it was just the ones who were caught in the fires that died. Turning to look over his shoulder, the Greek King of Kings saw the once brilliant city of Troy a ball of fire, and the red glow on his face made him appear even more of a demon than he was.

The sick grin on his face was revolting, the way he took pleasure in the destruction of an entire city. The city would be his by morning, and the twisted look of glee on his face was not at all distorted by the 'valiant' effort that Priam's warriors were putting up. They would all be dead by morning.

IV

Glaucus, the proud general, stood with fifty of his men. He'd walked up and down their ranks, clasping hands with each man. They all knew death was near, but they did not fear it. They would die to defend this city, their homes, and their history.

"You men are soldiers. Leading you has been an honor." A cheer rang up from the men at his words, and he smiled even broader as Paris appeared in the room. He was winded from running, and behind him was Hektor. The men's faces brightened at seeing their hero, their champion, and their hopes were rekindled. Both of the Princes clasped hands with Glaucus, knowing it would probably be the last time they saw him in this world.

"The boatman is waiting for us. I say, let him wait a little longer!" Glaucus yelled as the Greeks broke through the great doors of the reception hall. His call was met by the roar of his men, and they attacked fiercely. Their strength had been increased by the appearance of their princes, and for a while they held the Greeks back, actually forcing them to let up ground. Paris notched an arrow to his bow and fired at will, felling Greeks left and right, and it was all Hektor could do to restrain himself from using the sword in his hands. He knew he couldn't fight, and it killed him.

But fate was not on their side. Though the Trojans were strong, they were grossly outnumbered, and they could not hold off the Greeks for long. Paris' skills were far more impressive than Hektor had judged, and his younger brother fired quickly and accurately, adding more and more Greek bodies to the floor.

Odysseus' entrance to the hall was swiftly followed by Glaucus' death. Their engagement was short, for Odysseus had the advantage of strength and sleep, while the aged veteran had met his match long ago. He could not keep up with the speed of the Greek General's blade, and was therefore ended by it.

Hektor's instinct kicked in, and he commanded the surviving Trojans to fall back further into the palace. There were too many Greeks gaining too much ground in the small reception hall, and if they would have any chance of surviving longer they would have to find better ground.

V

The palace was lost. Greeks swarmed the rooms, seizing whatever treasure they could. They were so caught up in their plundering that most failed to notice the fool of a King stumbling around. Horror, shock, pain and disbelief were written on his face. He'd armed himself with a sword, he'd been a great warrior in his prime, but he was far past that now. Rushing into the hall, he was disgusted by the scene before him. Greeks were defiling the alters to the gods who had protected his city for so long, only to abandon it now. They were stealing the golden figurines and smashing whatever they could not take with them. Roaring in anger, the old King raised his sword high in the air and shouted, "Have you no honor?! No respect for the Gods?!"

The words are no sooner off his tongue, than a spear is run through his chest from behind. He gasps, unable to cry out in pain, and collapsed onto the floor as he lost control of his body. He had not seen Agamemnon standing behind him. In vengeance and in pure hatred the Greek King had thrust a spear through his enemy, and was not yet content to let the old man die. Instead, he yanked the spear from his opponent's back, and stood above him triumphantly.

"I wanted you alive, old king. I wanted you to watch your city burn," Agamemnon gloated, relishing the taste of his absolute victory over the city that had opposed him for so long.

"Please... the children... spare the innocents..." Priam pleaded with his last breath.

"Let Hades decide who's innocent." Agamemnon spat at the old man, and then turned to leave him to die alone in the grand halls he'd been so proud of. Let his body rot in the broken halls that were his entire fault. Walking, as if he were on a stroll in his own gardens, Agamemnon took up a perch beneath an archway of the palace. It offered a perfect view of the lower gardens, where a massive statue of Apollo stood. There was also the fabulous accenting of the burning city and the black smoke that rolled off the inferno below. Such a wonderful sight to see his enemies fall so utterly! Magnificently pleased with himself, the King of King turned his head only slightly, and was suddenly filled with rage.

How dare that little Trojan whore still be alive?

VI

Achilles ran headlong through the palace, not paying attention to the panicked groups of people that bolted from him. He didn't even pay attention to Patroclus, either he would be following or he wouldn't. There was no time to worry about anything but finding her. He had this feeling that something was about to happen, it was a feeling he'd had before, and it had never been wrong. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, and if he didn't find her soon he was almost positive that someone else would. Someone who may not have her interest at heart.

"ADONIA! ADONIA!" He called frantically, keeping himself under such tight control on the outside, but he had a feeling that all of his self control was about to break down if he found her anything but alive.

-

-------------

-

The city was an inferno around her, but she did not fear the touch of the flames. She could smell the ash around her, and felt it sting her skin and could taste it on her tongue, but she did not let it stop her. She knelt before the great statue of Apollo in her father's garden, her hands clutched over her hearts as she plead with the great lord to save those she loved. She prayed that she would survive only to see _him _again. That was all she wanted, a sign that he was alive.

So focused on her prayers, was she, that she didn't notice the people approaching her. She didn't realize that there were even people around her until a sick voice whispered in her ear, and with horror she realized how foolish she'd been to let her guard down.

"Too late for prayer, Princess." Her head snapped around, as Agamemnon grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet. She yelped in surprise and began to struggle when he held a bloodstained sword up to her throat. She caught her breath and went as still as she could. The cold, wet metal bit into her skin, and the sickening copper smell of blood made her stomach roll. Fear did not find her, only hatred and the intense will to survive and escape.

"Your parents should have taught you to stand before a king," Agamemnon's voice was filled with a sick and twisted sense of amusement, and she pitied this man's soul. He would be in the underworld before long; tortured for all that he had done to the innocents of her city.

"They did," she growled, trying to keep from shaking. It would not have been out of fear, but out of pure hatred and anger.

"You wore a white robe when I last saw you," you taunted, and his proximity to her was revolting. It was true; however, she no longer wore the white of a pure princess, but no more. She'd given all her heart and all herself to Achilles, no matter what this fool would thing. "No more? Did brave Achilles ruin you for the temple?" Yanking her hair he pulled her closer, and she was revolted. He was an ugly man with an ugly soul, and she wanted nothing more than for him to die. A slow and painful death would have been due to the murderer of her people. When she said nothing, his lips rose in a sneer.

"I almost lost this war because of your little romance. I want to taste what Achilles tasted." The very thought of what he was suggesting disgusted her far more than any insult ever would. Suddenly, terror did find her, as she realized that her life wasn't the only one at stake right now. What would happen if she was taken prisoner by Agamemnon? What would happen to her child? These thoughts kept her from fighting. She had to find a way out of this, there had to be a way out! "You'll be my slave in Mycenae. A Trojan princess scrubbing my floors. And at night – "

She heard the tearing of cloth as he grabbed her robe at the shoulder and attempted to rip it off of her. She'd had enough. Out of her sleeve Adonia drew her hand, and stabbed a jeweled dagger into the man's exposed throat. Anger rolling off her; she dug it deeper and deeper into the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck. Blood spilled out and stained her hands, but she didn't feel it. Gasping for air and clutching at his neck, Agamemnon fell to the ground. His body convulsed several times until he slowly died, and a sense of triumph came over Adonia.

The bodyguards that she hadn't seen stared at their dying King in disbelief. Gasping, she lifted her skirts and attempted to run, but the guards lurched into action, chasing after her. One pursued her and dragged her to the ground. There was a sickening crack in her wrist as she threw her hand out to keep from falling on her stomach. She bit her lip as she cried out in pain; she tasted blood rolling over her tongue.

The bodyguard that hadn't tumbled to the ground with her stood over her, his sword raised in the air. The fire glittered off the blade, she could see the muscles in his arms tensing, and she was about to scream when his head rolled from his shoulders. She quickly rolled out of the way as the man's body collapsed beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the brilliant figure of Achilles whirl around and end the other man's life. Achilles had come. He had saved her, and she couldn't help herself. She flew to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

VII

Together, Paris and Hektor ran through the palace, searching for Adonia. She was the only one of their family who was unaccounted for – dead or alive. They wouldn't leave without knowing that she was safe, or could not be helped. In sheer agony they had to part from their father's body. It had been horrific; to find him laying in a pool of blood in his decimated throne room. It was a dishonor to him and the gods, but there was nothing they could do about it.

Feeling panicked now, Hektor looked out an archway, and in both relief and horror he found Adonia. Her arms were wrapped around the murderer Achilles. His bloodstained sword was still in his hand, and Hektor felt himself fill up with rage. Paris soon saw what had his brother so enraged, and he too felt that familiar red feeling. Only, Paris saw the man that both Adonia and Hektor had overlooked.

Patroclus stood in the background of Adonia and Achilles' reunion. He was ecstatic to have found her alive, but at the same time, he knew that this was important for them, to be together again. He smiled as she noticed him, and he took a step forward to meet her embrace, when there was the feeling of warm metal on the back of his neck. The world swam before his eyes, and he distantly heard a woman, Adonia most likely, scream out his name as he fell forward. His vision went black before he hit the ground.

Achilles bellowed in rage and swung his sword around to cleanly remove Agamemnon's head from his shoulders. He hadn't been dead. Gripping to life, the man had pulled the dagger from his throat and plunged it through the back of Patroclus' neck. Sick with grief Achilles dropped to his knees beside his cousin's body. The light was gone from his eyes; there was no hope for him. Adonia stood in shock. She had been sure that Agamemnon would not have been alive. A wound like that would have killed him quickly, but what if she had not hit the vital artery? What if she had just barely missed it? His death would have taken longer, and he would have had the strength to murder one of the men she had tried so hard to save.

"Adonia!" Hektor called loudly, for he could hear more Greeks coming. He could hear their feet against the marble floors, and he knew there was no more time to waste. With Paris in tow, he ran down the stairs to where his sister was, and embraced her strongly. She yelped as pressure was put on her wrist. Achilles jumped to his feet, ready to defend her, but she quickly stepped in front of him.

"We must go, more are coming," Hektor said roughly, indicating that he would not take no for an answer.

"I cannot leave him," she said, her voice cracking as she tried to fight back sobs of guilt and grief.

"He is already dead." The words rang clear in her mind, but she still refused to believe it.

"You brother is right. Is there was way out?" Achilles asked, and for a tense moment, Adonia wasn't sure if Hektor was going to trust him. But, at the desperate look on her face, he nodded and accepted her hero as an ally. They would have been an impressive team, the greatest warrior of Troy beside the greatest warrior of Greece. Only Hektor was still no where near his best.

"There is always a way out for the Princes," Paris said, puffing out his chest. He was clearly threatened by Achilles, and she was careful to stand between him and her brothers. She did not need them fighting now. She had lost one of her closest friends; she could not stand to lose any more. Even though she and Paris did not really get along, she couldn't stand to lose another person who was so close to her. Leading the way, Hektor ran in the direction of the hidden door he knew. Paris followed with Adonia and Achilles right behind. Perhaps they would make it through this night. Perhaps this was the end for Troy, but just maybe they would make it through this horrible night alive. There was a chance, a huge chance that they could survive, but there was an even greater chance that they would perish this night.

A thought crossed Paris' mind as they ran through palace, getting nearer and nearer to the hidden door. Who would close the door?

* * *

The final chapter.......or is it?

Who should close the door?


End file.
